


Boy Toy

by Gia467



Series: Robby and Miguel [1]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Sexual Situations, Beginnings, Body Image, Boys Will Be Boys, Emotional Manipulation, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Dynamics, Sexual Content, Sexuality Crisis, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-07-07 23:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia467/pseuds/Gia467
Summary: A series of ficlets chronicling Robby and Miguel's turbulent relationship, while Miguel tries to find out where it all went wrong.AU, obviously. Non S2 compliant, college-AU.





	1. Day (194)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jules1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules1980/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Start at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few chapters have been switched around to better suit the narrative, so if you have started already, I recommend a second full reading to get the whole picture as intended.

Actually knocking on the door wasn't nearly as stressful as the pause in-between, waiting for him to answer.

It opens, and Miguel's throat tightens up at the look Robby gives him. A mere twenty four hours ago they were still laying wrapped up in each other, discussing whether or not they should rent a movie.

"What do _you_ want?"

Emphases on the you. Like he'd be happy entertaining the desires of anyone else at this door but him, that's how low he's fallen.

"I just wanted to talk."

Robby looks up, to the ceiling. Miguel sighs.

"Can I come in?"

He didn't want to do this in the hallway, with others potentially listening. It's an apartment, the walls were already thin. 

Robby rolls his eyes again, more clearly this time. "What's there to talk about? You wanna apologize?"

"I don't wanna talk about this with an audience." Miguel gestures behind him, to the hallway. He sees the side of Robby's mouth twitch.

"How ironic."

Miguel's shoulders slump. "Fine... whatever. I just wanted to try... maybe–"

But before he can get the last part out, Robby lets go of the doorframe, turning and heading back inside, leaving the door ajar. It's as close to an invitation as Miguel would get.

He walks inside, and closes the door.

The small apartment is familiar. Many nights and evenings spent here, in his room, on his couch when his roommate would be out for the night. Sometimes they'd have dinner together when Robby would have a craving for Chinese food, and he'd always make sure order Miguel's favourite dish when he did.

For a while there it felt like he really cared about him. Not to mention, they weren't in high school anymore. Did they really need to make it 'official', in order for it to mean anything?

They'd study in the library together, hang out before classes, and Robby even texted him good luck before a midterm. It was lacking any verbal confirmation, but that this point Miguel felt that announcing it, or confirming it, was beyond the realm of what was needed.

"So, " He opens. "Has your roommate been redecorating? It looks–"

He turns around, Robby's glare burning into him.

"...Nice."

His mouth suddenly decides it's not going to work, and he stands there, on the verge of talking, looking like a complete idiot for what felt like a whole minute before Robby finally says something.

"What do you want, Diaz?"

The last name basis hurt. Of course no baby, cutie, or any of that, but he at least expected his first goddamn name.

"Please, don't do this. Seriously, I came here to try and make things better. I can't do that with you acting like you hate me."

"Who's acting?"

_Ouch._

"You _hate_ me?" It's choked out, rather pathetically.

Robby looks past him. "The crying isn't going to work this time." It's said softer, gentler. But it still hurts all the same.

Miguel wipes his eyes with the sides of his palms. "I'm not trying to. That's pretty shitty to just assume I'm that manipulative."

"You made a huge fucking scene today. What else should I expect? You told your friends your side of the story and now everyone thinks I cheated on you–"

"You did cheat on me!"

"No, I didn't. We'd have to be in a relationship for me to cheat on you. This wasn't a relationship, this was you coming over and me screwing you. You know what no strings attached means, right?" 

Miguel frowns, feeling tears springing up in the corners of his eyes. "Could've fooled me. I stayed the night, we went out together, you held my hand...we went on real dates."

_You said I love you, once._

And Miguel remembers it, the intimacy he showed him just once before.

When Robby came over, to his house this time (after a rather rushed phone call where Miguel confirmed his mother's absence and his Yaya's indifference), and pulled him straight to his room. All Miguel did upon seeing him was hug him, before Robby slumped down to the floor and took Miguel with him, holding him tight to his body with one hand on the nape of his neck. He didn't know long they sat there, but it felt nice to be alone like that, in their tiny little bubble, unbroken by anything. 

He couldn't help it. Miguel had said it first, somewhat overcome by the urge to tell him what had been brewing inside his head for weeks.

Miguel said it first but Robby had said it back, in a way that Miguel knew was genuine in his own way. He _meant it_ , it wasn't just reciprocation. Miguel knew it. He just knew.

And now Robby stands in front of him, his arms crossed and as stubborn as usual as he stares him down, no ounce of intimacy or love in those pretty, green eyes.

But Miguel is determined. "You can't say I meant nothing to you."

And Robby is stubborn.

"You're the one who gave off that impression to everyone else. You never told your mother what was happening either, and it was pretty clear when you introduced me as 'your friend from school'."

Miguel sighs, the happy memory from before crumbling away. This again.

He'd always disliked that about Robby. He'd use anything he could against you, even if he knew that it wasn't you to blame.

"That was different, and I told you why." Miguel walks towards him, closing more of the metre or so gap that had accumulated, until they're only at arms length. "Besides, it's not like you ever had a problem with it."

Miguel looks right into those wonderful eyes, trying desperately to find any repressed feelings. A look of desire, want, lust, regret, sympathy, fear... anything to suggest that maybe he wasn't completely done with him. "And If you did, you certainly didn't tell me."

That familiar smirk is back on Robby's face, infuriating instead of attractive. Like a lot of things, it had taken on a different meaning now.

"I'm convinced all those good grades you bring home don't mean anything. I figured I wouldn't have to explain basic social protocol like I had to explain sucking–"

"You expect me to somehow read your mind, and when I don't you drop me for a fucking _girl_ –" Miguel spits that word out like it hurts him– "And then pretend like this was always just a hookup and I'm some clingy, jealous asshole."

Robby's interest is piqued. "Is that what this is about?"

Miguel's silence speaks for him. Having Robby this close is making his heart race. "Besides, with the way you carry on, sleeping with a real girl wasn't that big of a change, actually."

Robby grins smugly, seeing the other's discomfort. They're very close now, and Robby pushes it further with more senseless, embarrassing comments that worm their way under Miguel's skin, lighting fire to his blood, his arms itching to reach out and legs yearning to either run away or step closer and shut him up.

Instead, Miguel just stands there without moving an inch, blushing darkly and pouting. "You seemed to like it just fine before."

"There's a lot of things I used to like before."

Miguel frowns. Did that mean him?

"You're pathetic, Miguel. Why do keep going back to the people who don't want you?"

Robby's watches as Miguel's adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat, swallowing audibly, and those angry tears spill over with a confused, indignant whimper.

"You _didn't_ mean that."

"Yes, I did. Why do you think that Sam ignored you after that whole thing, even after you mailed her roses and said sorry a million times? You're completely oblivious to people's feelings! You go after people who want nothing to do with you."

"Holy shit! You're bringing things up that happened years ago! You always do this, always!"

"And yet you haven't learned anything." Robby's expression hardens. "You don't realize you keep doing the same things," Miguel is trying to swallow the stubborn lump in his throat, unsuccessfully. "Desperate isn't attractive... have some self respect."

Miguel looks down, face getting hotter. There's more angry tears but he can't make them stop. He doesn't bother to. This was a good enough reason to cry.

Robby's face remains neutral, another kick to the gut. How could he be so emotionless?

"Listen Miguel, either communicate what you want, or don't be disappointed when things don't work out exactly the way you want them. I screwed you, get over it. It's sex. It's done... we're done."

His mouth opens, without sound again. This is not how this was supposed to go.

"I... Robby–"

Robby turns away, collecting a sweater off the couch. "I'm expecting someone, so you need to go."

Miguel swallows. Stands in place. He can't leave yet. Because after he walked out the door, it really would be over, for good.  
No more movie nights in his apartment. No more late nights spent studying together. No more someone calling him baby and putting an arm around his waist as they walked. No more Robby.

Robby slowly backs up and Miguel follows suit, until he's standing there just outside his doorstep.

"Go home, Miguel."

All those fights they they'd promised they'd patch up, all those promises they both made. Was it his fault for being so casual about it, that he'd hurt him in the process?

Now he'd never get the chances to fix anything, or profess feelings that were never really said in the first place.  
It wasn't bad enough living for months on the precipice of breakups and real commitment, wondering to himself if he should just man up and confess the whole thing to his mother. 

The door shuts quietly in his face, and Miguel still can't will his feet to move from that same spot outside the door, as if staying around would make any difference anyway. Isn't being stagnant what landed him here anyway? Being stuck never got anybody in the whole world anywhere useful.

There's nothing left to do, but move on.


	2. Day (One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel's always believed in fate.

[Soundtrack - "Us" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ny2pCjzXFc)

Miguel always tended to overthink things. It was a habit that he's always had for one reason or another. Mostly because he seemed to have the most significant life events hinge on something so _insignificant_ that thinking about the chain reaction that followed, seemed almost like divine intervention.

Meeting Robby again was one of those.

On a split decision, he'd fucked off going to calculus, and decided to visit the campus lounge for a drink. He'd never really spent much time in the campus bars even in his freshman year, but the idea that he could get a shot of tequila at 2pm seemed like the epitome of young adulthood freedom.

He'd ended up getting a beer instead, leaning on the railing and looking down at the level below, and all the students that were milling around below him in the food court. He'd let his eyes go to the wall speaker playing a rather off-putting type of music he didn't care for, and in scanning the room found something that he liked.

And apparently, the person had already beaten him to that thought too, since they were already looking.

Miguel didn't look away at first, as weird as that seemed at the time, but the overwhelming déjà vu kept his eyes on the boy. For the two or so seconds he held eye contact was enough that the person looked at him funny, but Miguel didn't really get the message, and just kept staring at him like an idiot, trying to find out where he knew him from.

A second later he looked away, back to the group he'd surrounded himself with, and Miguel quickly relocated. 

In the second incident, he’d been walking to class. It lasted less than a second, but they'd made eye contact again. Miguel tried to give the boy a friendly look, but he was too fast to catch it.

Miguel went to class thinking of his hair. So few boys had long hair. It had to be him, he was sure of it.

The third incident finally did it.

It was awfully sunny that day, and sitting outside seemed like the best idea if he was going to sit around and torture himself with rewriting his notes. The sudden pain in the side of his head didn't really register until the bright yellow frisbee landed in his books.

His hand flew to his temple. “Ow!”

There's laughter a few feet away, and someone comes loping back, while Miguel’s cheeks burn pink.

“Jesus, I'm so sorry man. Are you okay?”

Miguel's eyes shift up from his book. You'd think that it was the kid in front of him that got hit in the head, because he only looked down at him, making no effort to retrieve his frisbee.

“Your head okay?”

Miguel's fingers ghost his temple. “Yeah, uh… I'm fine. It's okay…” He hands the kid back kid flying disc of annoyance. “Here.”

The kid eyes him, like he's sizing him up. “Do I know you?”

 _Maybe_ , Miguel thought.

“Miguel Diaz?”

His eyebrows nearly disappeared under his hair. “Yeah…”

The kid nodded fondly. “I _thought_ it was you," He looks over his books. "What are you studying for?”

Miguel blinks, looking down then back up. “Uh, it's for Existentialism, we're studying Kierkegaard. I'm just re-writing some notes.”

“That the one with Chen?”

“Yeah–”

“We have that together then. I always sit at the back, though. You’re always right at the front... you always answer her questions. I thought your voice sounded a little familiar.”

Miguel blushes. Not in a million years would he think himself to be the type someone could pick out from a crowd, never mind the one they'd prefer to focus on. Deep down, he feels flattered. But what was this kid's name again? He forgets. Goddamn.

Robby looks a little sheepish this time. “Sorry, I just meant like, you looked familiar and, now I know why…” He shifts his weight on one foot. “That's all.”

“It's okay,” For some reason, the slight vulnerability makes Miguel calmer. For a moment his brows knitted together in frustration. “I'm so sorry but uh, what's your name again?”

He snickers. Not meanly, but lightly, like he had told a really dorky joke. “It's Robby. You remember me, don't you? It's been a while I guess.”

“Yeah uhm, from the tournament and…”

“The beach.” Robby finishes for him, entirely neutral faced. Miguel can feel the guilt slowly creeping into his expression. _Yes, the time when I pushed you to the ground and threatened you._

“Yeah…”

“History repeats itself, I guess.” He chuckles, and Miguel realized he's now comparing the two incidents. Hitting each other is apparently how the universe suggests they connect.

Miguel looks up from the boy’s smiling mouth, trailing up to his eyes. Light, green eyes; yet another feature that Miguel finds pleasantly unconventional. This time when he saw them, they weren't filled with contempt, but humor and even flirtation.

_What do you call this feeling?_

Robby smiles at him, nicely, warmly. “My friends and I were gonna head downtown and check out a club, uh, L3 I think it's called, it just opened. You wanna go, maybe?”

Miguel is suddenly self conscious. “Uh.. I've never been to one before, so… sure?” His voice gets a little pitchy out of sheer awkwardness, though he tries to subdue it for dignity's sake.

“It's like a bar, but with more dancing and,” Robby lets the words linger on his tongue a little while while he searches for the appropriate word, as not to completely scare of the innocent boy in front of him. “More _fun_ … it's cool.”

Miguel chuckles. “Uh sure, why not.”

“Great.” Robby smiles again, heavier on one side than the other, as he takes Miguel's pen from his hand and writes 6 digits on the side of a page. “I guess I'll see you later, Miguel.” He pauses; puts the pen back in Miguel's lax grip and makes sure to touch his fingertips in the process, while his eyes don't leave his face. “Nice to see you again.”

Miguel's other hand is on the table, fingers gripping the pages of his book, his near overwhelming jittery feelings being taken out on fiddling with the pages.

“See you around...”

He winks, and there's a pleasant tightening in Miguel's chest.


	3. Day (3)

“You having fun?"

“Uh-huh.” 

“You drunk?” 

_“Uh-huh…”_

More soft laughter. He's awfully close. “Great, so am I.” 

“You don't seem drunk,” Miguel tilts his head in derision. “ _I_ seem drunk.” 

“I probably have more practice than you… are you alright?” 

Miguel's gaze is far away. “I don't want to get lost. Or get sick. Or get in a fight.” He looks around. “There's lots of people here.” 

“I won't let you.” Robby's steadying Miguel by his arms, pulling him a tad closer whenever someone happens to step into their little bubble. “Don't worry, you'll stay safe with me.” 

Miguel can barely hear Robby's voice over the music. The _very_ _familiar_ music. “Is this Latin night or something?” 

Robby chuckles again, “I have no idea, do you not like it?” 

“No, I like it.” Miguel smiles, looking down at his chest. “I'd be in trouble if I didn't. I heard it all the time…” 

Robby nods in understanding. “Right.” He sways in tandem with him, eyes lingering over Miguel’s hips, travelling up to his face. Miguel's face feels a bit warmer. He exhales slowly. Robby’s hands go to his arms again, taking his hands as they dance, and Miguel's heart speeds up again, the same feelings from a few days prior taking root in his stomach again. 

“Too warm?” He says.

Again, Miguel barely hears him. “Hmm?” 

He leans in, and one hand goes around Miguel's ribs, and their little bubble is made even smaller. “I said,” Miguel is suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, and instead looks to his mouth. “Are you too warm?” 

Too warm would mean moving away, maybe to outside, or maybe it just meant making their bubble more suitable for two people. Whatever it was, Miguel wanted zero part of it. This is happening now, and he's okay with that. Being this close, _maybe too close_ to another boy, in a place where many other people are _also_ too close to one other. 

“I'm okay right here.” 

And Miguel recognizes the song, _el chico del apartamento 512,_ and he wonders if he will remember this particular event every time he hears it from now on. He wonders if he'll remember Robby being this close to him. He sure hopes so, in case he never gets to do this again.

And so, they keep dancing, awfully too close to be modest anymore. 

Robby, being the apparent gentleman he is, is kind enough to ask first, fingers coming to graze the side of Miguel's jaw while the other has slipped to his waist. 

“Is it bad that I wanna kiss you?” Miguel is about to shake his head, until the next question comes tumbling out of Robby's mouth rather quickly, halting any response. “ _May_ I?” 

Miguel doesn't say anything, but leans in anyway. He's too drunk to come up with a response that wouldn't be stupid, like “duh” or maybe even “I'd love it if you did.” Miguel nearly misses his lower lip, but Robby is kind enough not to dwell on a drunken mistake; he closes his eyes and feels the softness of Robby's hair brush against his face. It's a kiss that, might it have been bestowed upon anyone other than him, Miguel might have been jealous of the skill, wondering how he could have emulated it on the next person _he_ kissed. 

Robby breaks it and Miguel is tempted to whine in protest. “Do you mind if I'd called us a cab? Like to, my house? I don't feel like drinking much anymore." Robby leans his forehead against Miguel's hair, his mouth at the space between lips and nose. “I'd rather just do more of that.”

Miguel nods.

\--

Just after they'd shut themselves into the back of a cab, Robby nudges his shoulder.

“I can drop you off at your house too, I just… “ He frowns. “ _Sorry,_ I guess I was thinking ahead of myself. I can't drop you off wherever you want, doesn't have to be at my house.” 

But Miguel knows exactly where he wants to be. 

“No no… let's go to your house... I wanna kiss you more, and stuff." He felt so light. "I wanna do that, I don't wanna go home.” As if to make his point, his hand goes to Robby’s knee, moving the tiniest bit upwards as he looks into his eyes with a cute, shy grin that only slightly betrayed the inexperience he felt. “Okay?”

There was no hint of that in the way Robby looked at him, all lascivious eyes and crooked smirk that Miguel thought looked lovely only when it was on him.

“O-kay.” 

_Oh, what excitement something new brings._

_Too bad it rarely stays._


	4. Day (195)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you look for answers and come up empty handed, you need to look harder.

* * *

Miguel turns back around once he hears the jingle of the door, eyes previously focused on the set of apartments across the road. Aisha returns to his side, with two bottles of _Jarritos_ in hand.

“Here, I got you the lime.”

“Thanks.” He looks at it, gently tilting around the light coloured liquid inside its glass confines.

“What was it?”

He looks back up. “Huh?”

“The drink you tossed on him, what was it?”

His mouth forms a brief line. “Iced coffee.”

“Eesh. Well, I have to say that it wasn't really wasn't the best reaction on your part.”

“Thank you, hindsight.”

She sits down on the curb beside him. “I'm just saying.”

“Well, too late now. It's done…” Miguel groans into his hands. “I really fucked myself over with that, screwed it up just like I always do.” Miguel's voice cracked a little on the last few words, teetering on the edge of another emotional outburst. “You should've seen him, he _hates_ me.”

She shrugs, a rather unhelpful response to that particular comment. “You can't expect him to be happy after you guys broke up. He's probably hurting just as much.”

He scowls. “That _doesn't_ make me feel better.”

“So you made a few mistakes… now you know, and now you can learn from them.”

“ _Now I know,”_ He repeats bitterly. “Now I know I'm gonna _die alone.”_

“Easy there, drama queen. Drink your soda, you're probably all dehydrated from the crying–”

Miguel's head whips back up as he stares at her in bewildered embarrassment, like she'd just unleashed a terrible secret to the world, despite that right then it's just the two of them on that curb, drinking soda at just after midnight.

Aisha's not exactly catching on. “What?”

“You wanna tell the whole world?”

“Dude, you just broke up with your boyfriend. Nobody cares if you cry, you're heartbroken." Her expression abruptly turns from sympathy to vague humor. "Also it's midnight and we're at a corner store, nobody's here to see you anyway."

He makes another feeble noise of regret in the back of his throat. “What if he was pretty much the perfect one and I'll never find anything close to that again? What if I just threw away my soulmate?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Your _soulmate?_ You might be getting ahead of yourself there. Have you completely forgotten what you were telling me a few weeks ago?”

“Huh?”

“You said he was _too much_ for you. That you were worried about where it was going ‘cause you didn't want to go so fast with him. You do remember that, right?”

“He pauses a minute, just thinking, because in all honesty he _didn't_ remember, not at first thought. "Yes. I just–” He sighs again, frustrated. “Things change, I guess, but I just, I'm worried I fucked up something really good. Why am I like this?”

He wasn't even sure if Robby felt anything for him the whole fucking time, or if that emotional stuff was to just keep him around longer until he found another one. Especially considering after what Robby had said to him a mere three hours ago.

_'This wasn't a relationship. You know what no strings attached means, right?'_

How was he supposed to know what he really felt? It went from 0-100 and back to zero. One minute he loves him, the next few hitting up some chick in the fucking _library–-_

Aisha eyes the way Miguel's knuckles are turning white around the bottle’s neck, and she goes to lightly pry it from his grip as he shakes himself out of whatever bitterness-fueled daydream he'd gotten himself stuck in.

“You need to relax. You wanna know what I think?”

He's not looking at her anymore, attention focused elsewhere. “What do you think?”

“I think that you're misremembering stuff.”

He shrugs, taking back the soda and chugging down a few mouthfuls. “I don't get it.”

“Well, right now you're upset, you're only thinking about the good stuff, but you can't forget about the bad stuff either. I think you need to take a harder look at why you felt like that, because if you were really in love with him you probably wouldn't have felt that way in the first place...”

He goes to interrupt her. “But–”

“ _Miguel,_ you didn't even let your mom know about it, you introduced him as your _friend, so I mean..._ I think you're just worrying about making a mistake, you know? You could barely call him your boyfriend so I really doubt he was _the one."_

Miguel pauses mid-retort, nothing even close to proper response coming through. He chugs down more of his soda while Aisha just puts her hand on his shoulder, trying gently to rub away the tension.

“You're remembering how you wanted it to be, but you need to look at it how it really was and you need to do it without pitying yourself.”

That wounded puppy look is back in Miguel's eyes, but Aisha isn't backing down this time. “If you keep trying to find what's never been there, then you're just gonna keep ignoring what's _actually_ there, even if its trying to jump out in front of you." 


	5. Day (198)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up the pieces.

_‘I think you're misremembering stuff, how you_ _wanted it to be...’_

Misremembering what, exactly? The things he said? The complete 180 he took one day?

_‘You've gotta try and look harder.’_

Like going back to their usual spot wasn't torture enough, but resigning himself to try and figure out what the hell Aisha was talking about made it all the worse.

He looks down at his usual breakfast dish of Pancakes with blueberries and bananas, and back up to an empty booth.

His chest aches. That spot isn't supposed to be empty. It's never been since he started coming here. It's never been empty, and he's always happy.

Unless you count the previous time he was here.

\--

(187)

“Is, everything okay?” 

Robby barely looked up from his plate. “Yeah, everything's fine.”

Miguel tore at the edges of his pancakes. “Are you sure?”

Robby nodded through a mouthful of omelette. _“Mm-hm.”_

“Do you wanna see a movie today?”

Robby looked at him funny. “Uh, I've gotta finish a project. Shouldn't you be catching up on your labs? You've got a report due in two days, don't you?”

Miguel deflated a little. “Yeah, and... I have.”

“We can see a movie another time, okay?” Robby’s eyes are barely visible through the top of his cup. “Promise. ”

Miguel just nodded, looking back down to his plate.

The rest of the meal was mostly silence, with Miguel vaguely picking up bits and pieces of the conversations around him, their own silence punctuated by the many noisy tables surrounding them, making it all the more obvious in his mind that something was indeed off with Robby. With them. Why was it so tense suddenly? It was like things had completely shifted between the two of them and Miguel hadn't been made the slightest bit aware of it.

Somehow, the pancakes seemed worse that day. The strawberries seemed wilted, and the syrup too sweet. Everything was noticeably different.

When they parted ways, he didn't even get a goddamn kiss. 

“Are you sure everythings okay?”

He met his eyes, something he'd barely done all breakfast long. “Yeah, why?”

“It's just, you seem quieter, I dunno.”

Robby fiddled with the key in his hand, attached by one of those small spiral keychains. “I'm just tired.”

“Did you wanna study together, maybe?” Briefly, Miguel looks to his feet again, like a better excuse might somehow appear in the carpeted floor. “We haven't really seen each other lately.”

 _Don't you want to see me?_ He wanted to say. _Don't you want to at least spend the night together? Sleep together in the most literal sense?_

Robby looked to his door, and somewhat reluctantly back towards Miguel, still locked in a state of expectation. “I'll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Miguel sighed; not in annoyance, but in resignation, softly under his breath. “Sure.”

He went to kiss him, but Robby turned his mouth away, and Miguel's lips nearly landed on his jaw. He froze, floundering for a proper response. He'd just been rejected for a simple kiss.

“Robby–”

His face gave away nothing, and Miguel didn't bother to object when Robby pressed a kiss to his cheek instead, brief and rather cold.

_Where was the nice, normal kiss?_

“I think I just need to be alone today, okay?”

“Yeah… okay.” He didn't realize they slowly made their way to the door. Miguel had been following Robby's small steps across his apartment hallway, he hadn't even noticed the distance they'd made. Robby slid the key into the lock, and practically shut the door in his face. Miguel felt utterly stupid standing on the doorstep like that.

He took the stairs back down, begrudgingly throwing open the door to the lobby and nearly hitting another tenant in the face with it. He was pleasantly surprised it wasn't raining when he stepped outside, the sun still shone like it always did, bright and searing hot.

Miguel pulled out his phone and checked through their texts, a habit that he'd formed the first time they fought, and looked for anything amiss. For the life of him, he couldn't pick out anything that would indicate any simmering tension or anger on Robby's part. Maybe he was stressed, or maybe he didn't sleep well.

Or maybe he was just sick of him. Had the flames died down already?

Was this it?

\--

Miguel lays on his bed, one arm over the side as he scans his room, his clothes, homework, and books strewn around; a small side effect of the depressive slump he'd been in. The polaroid taped to his closet mirror catches his eye, and he lingers over it for a second or two before sitting up.

He wants to rip it down. Every morning he'd look at it, and for the past three days, he'd completely avoided the mirror because he didn't need the reminder. He didn't like how happy he looked with Robby. He didn't like how tired and apathetic he looked since then. And he _really_ didn't like the look his mother gave him when he came home that night, like heartbreak was written all over his face and he'd done a horrible job of hiding the fact he'd been _with_ Robby this entire time. He looks over the photo, into the mirror. The circles under his eyes stealing away the typical glow in his skin, leaving another noticeably hollow space where Robby ought to be.

Friends, _sure_. Like anyone could believe that anymore. What's the excuse for their sudden split? What friendship leaves this deep of a cut?

Gently, he unsticks the edge of tape holding it to the glass, letting his thumb run over the white border where Robby's words are etched in neatly-written, blue ink.

  
_I love you_


	6. Day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of another chapter, but added to it so it become it's own. It fit the narrative better as separate.

(6)

Miguel jumped a bit when Robby slid into the booth seat across from him.

“Sorry, did I scare you?”

Miguel felt himself blush, which just embarrassed him more. “I guess I'm just a little out of it. I've been here since 9.”

Robby winces. “Let me buy you a coffee, then.”

Miguel was full running on automatic. “Oh no, it's alright–”

“I insist. You look like you could use a little caffeine, anyway.”

Miguel was secretly grateful for the offer. He could have gone and bought one, but he was much too stubborn to even risk losing his place in his books. It felt like it was never-ending.

“Thank you… um, Americano, one sugar. Please.”

Robby smiled. “You've got it,” He slung his backpack into the booth, wallet in hand. “I'll be back.”

Miguel's eyes still lingered on him at the counter. Miguel was rather happy with the fact that the kid smiled so much. He liked it. He liked the way one side of his mouth turned up a little more than the other. He liked the way he looked at him, something he'd never really seen before in another boy's eyes. Once Robby started to make his way back, Miguel tried to pretend that he'd only been looking at his books the entire time.

He slid a sleeved paper cup in front of him. “One Americano, one sugar, no milk.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They sat with their notes spread out and their books open. Miguel's pages rife with colour coded tabs and margin notes, and Robby's a sea of yellow highlighter and dog-eared corners, and every time Robby placed a hand on one of his papers, or leaned closer to look at a bit he'd written down, Miguel wanted to just reach over and hold his hand. Instead, his restless hand goes for his coffee cup, clasping it gently as he might around Robby's fingers, imagining feeling the ring he always wore on his right hand. He wrote with the left and wore what Miguel recognized to be a gold peso ring on the right. Sometimes he wore a watch too, square-faced with the brown leather strap snugly around his wrist.

Nothing else had happened since last weekend, but Miguel was itching to do something. A kiss, a flirtatious comment, anything. 

Robby looked across the table at him, with his green eyes gazing up through long eyelashes.“The whole mind-body dualism is crap. I mean what's the use of studying it, really? ” A line formed between his brows, “And I have no idea how I'm going to memorize enough to write an essay. We don't even get a cheat sheet. In functions, we at least get a cheat sheet.” 

This was a different feeling, for sure.

Miguel readjusted the glasses on his face, well aware of how dorky he must have looked hunched over his books.

He tried to look sympathetic. “Unfair, isn’t it?”

A lot of things were unfair right now. Like how much he wanted to hold his hand, but he can't, because then he'd be that guy, the guy that got clingy after one night together. 

"Exams suck. I can't wait until this next week is done with, and then we finally get winter break." 

The winter break. That seemed as good excuse as many to Miguel, who was currently wracking his brain for ways to discreetly ask Robby to hang out again, not studying or just getting a coffee, but actually like, spend time together. He liked him. He was handsome and smart. The sex was good. Really what else did you really need in a... boyfriend? Um, romantic friend? 

Miguel had never dated a boy before. Not really. College is for experimenting. Not everything has to be official, or labelled, right? Couldn't he just have fun with Robby? Spend time together and occasionally spend the night. That's seemed, _responsible_? He sipped his coffee, hoping it would melt away the block of ice in his throat.

"Robby?"

He tried to meet Robby's eyes, his cup still to held his mouth. "I was thinking uh, if you're not doing anything after, after this week I mean, during the break we could hang out again, maybe?" He got embarrassingly flustered near the end, his uncertainty rising like the wavering tone of his voice. 

He couldn't quite read the expression Robby gave him just then, but he felt awfully stupid in those first few seconds with him looking like a socially inept idiot while the boy across from him barely finished swallowing a sip of coffee. He mumbled out the last bit. "I enjoyed it last time." 

Robby did a sort of nod. "Uh, like what we did...? Sure, yeah. Like I said, text me or something, I can come over or you can–"

Miguel interrupted him. "No uh, I mean, just in general. Doesn't have to be... just sex." 

"Oh."

Miguel inwardly went off on himself. What an idiot he was, clearly _that_ had just screwed everything up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to put it that way, nevermind."

Robby paused. "Did you mean it?" 

"What?"

He leaned in a little closer. "What you said, about doing more than just hooking up. You wanted to hang out and stuff. Like, as more than just friends... that's what you meant, right?"

Miguel swallowed. "I mean, yeah but we don't have to if you don't want to, I can understand–"

"No... I'd like that." 

"Really?" He stopped himself before he'd made another backpedalling _'only if you really want to'_ comment. 

Robby smiled, reaching over where Miguel fingers had tightened around his pencil and takes his hand, caressing his palm with his thumb. "Yeah, _really._ You're cute. I'd love to maybe just go see a movie or something if you'd like. We don't have to sleep together at the end of the night or anything, either. We can just go out and enjoy ourselves."

Miguel felt like he looked ridiculous smiling so wide, but he couldn't really help it, nor did he particularly care at the moment. He was a little proud of himself. Up until this point, he'd let the other person make all the decisions in where the relationship went, and the fair share of broken-hearted days that resulted from it, all because he couldn't speak up. 

He glances down at the rings on Robby's hand, for a second conjuring up a silly idea that one day the same ring might be around his neck on a chain, or on his finger if it fit right; a subtle way of saying 'mine'. Before he can get too into his gushy fantasy, he reminds himself to speak again, looking Robby in the eyes this time. 

"I'd like that, too." 


	7. Day (175)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you don't set any rules, are they still able to be broken?

(175)

The door slammed, Miguel flinging it so hard the chain rattled against the wood.

“That was humiliating.” 

"You're drunk." Robby leaned irately against the kitchen counter, watching and listening to Miguel curse under his breath, walking somewhat clumsily back and forth in the living room. "You should just go to _bed."_

"I had _three_ drinks, Robby, and one of them was a stupid white freezie." 

"Then why are you throwing a tantrum because I got hit on?" 

Miguel scowled. "You could've at least told him you were seeing someone, this way I wouldn't have been making an idiot of myself, looking like I'm lusting after you while you couldn't care less. He was a complete creep by the way, don't know why you cared to spare his feelings.” He pouted. 

“I didn't care about his _feelings–”_

"Then why say you're straight? Couldn't you just say, 'hey, I'm kinda seeing someone, he’s right fucking here watching you practically grope me!'”

Robby rolled his eyes. “He did not _grope_ me. And why do you care? I thought this was casual now, so nobody's _attached_ to anyone. And he left me alone after that. I mean why waste time fishing for minnows in a river full of tuna?" 

Miguel made a face. “Flimsy analogies aside,” He crossed the room, standing in front of him. “It doesn't feel casual to me at this point. We still do all the same things, and I know you don't think it's nothing either, so why are you avoiding this talk?”

“I don't need the inevitable arguing, or the fallout when you inevitably change your mind in a few days.”

Miguel slid past that last bit. “We're not arguing, we're discussing.”

“If you say so.”

Miguel could feel himself slipping into a jittery tension. “Stop it.”

There was a slight sneer to Robby's mouth, and Miguel immediately got uncomfortable, like he'd crossed a line somehow. 

“Stop what? Stop trying to tell the truth? You think this is enjoyable for me? I don't wanna be jerked around like this, but you haven't given me a reason to think you're my boyfriend, or want me to be your boyfriend. I thought I was too _clingy_. We took a break because you said I was clingy!" 

"A break isn't a break- _up_! I just thought we needed some space to think where this was going.Ever think that I might've wanted to talk about that? You always avoid it–” 

“And this is why!” Robby took a breath. “Miguel, when I came to meet your mom you said, _my friend Robby_. My _friend._ Not boyfriend, friend! How are you upset at me for what happened tonight? How the hell am I supposed to know we are even together, huh? You are _beyond_ confusing.”

Miguel huffed indignantly. “I already told you why I didnt wanna tell my mom right away, and you didn't have a problem with it then... and at least I'm communicating with you! You could've told me it made you upset, but you don't tell me anything–”

"No, I'll tell you what my problem is. You get scared of relationships, but then you get jealous when you realize that someone else could take your place. You get jealous because you're so fucking _replaceable_ , but yet you can't be bothered to commit to anything because you still haven't even told anyone you like guys!"

"Oh screw you, why do you always think I'm afraid of commitment or stuck in some kind of bullshit sexuality crisis?" 

"Because you are. It's obvious." 

Miguel scoffed. "I'm sorry I don't rush into stuff. I guess I'm not looking to find validation somewhere." 

Robby got in his face. "The hell's that supposed to mean?" 

"Figure it out." 

Robby glared, and for a moment there was a sinking feeling in Miguel's stomach, regret slowly seeping in but evidently too late to say anything else by then. It had already been said. 

"I'm leaving before we both say something we regret," Robby pushed past him, beelining for the front door. “Goodnight.”

Robby opened the door, and Miguel's protesting voice was abruptly cut off without so much as a second look back. He stood there until his raging emotions prompted his muscles to finally move, and stomped his way to his bedroom. Shedding his clothes down to his underwear, he threw himself in the blankets, sulking. 

_You're so fucking replaceable._

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and for the next three hours he cried into his pillows and watched late night TV, occasionally disappointing himself with fruitless glances to his phone, no notifications of messages.

He'd fallen asleep by the time the buzzing woke him up, the phone on his end table glowing in the pitch darkness. It was only a little after midnight.

“Hello?”

“Hi." 

....

“Can I come by?”

—

He'd thrown on his jeans but not bothering with a shirt, and by the time he opened his door, Robby was leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey."

"Hey..." He looked over to his bedroom. "You wanna come inside?"

Robby nodded. Miguel tugged him inside, all the way to his room.

Robby stared intently at his reddened eyes in the brighter light, and Miguel looks away in a hurry. It was useless though, the handful of tissues littered around the end table, not to mention the few on the floor, were a testament to what occurred earlier.

Robby hummed, empathetic and guilty. “Miguel…”

He looked up from his place on the edge of the bed, Robby coming to stand in front of him. “It's okay, really.”

His head is tilted back with Robby's hand gently in his hair, and his forehead is kissed, very sweetly. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't've walked out like that." 

"It's alright. I shouldn't have said that you're desperate... I don't think that at all." 

Robby laughed a little. "That's good, then... And I didn't mean what I said either, I hope you know that. I think we both overreacted." 

"Yeah... "

Miguel pulled him back with him on the bed, both of them laying down as he attempts to tug Robby closer. 

“We don't have to label anything if you don't want, it doesn't really matter much to me... but I like you, I do.” His fingers carded through Robby's hair, silky and straight and a stark contrast to Miguel's bedhead. He looks to the window. “Please don't leave.”

Robby kissed him again, this time a proper one. “I wasn't gonna leave unless you wanted me to... but right now I think we both could use some sleep, okay? It's nearly 1; we can talk more in the morning," He sat up again, pulling his hoodie over his head. “If you still want to.”

“Sure,” Miguel took the time to shed his jeans again, and both him and Robby were down to comfortable intimates. Miguel patted the disarrayed sheets beside him. “Come sleep.”

Robby smiled in that lopsided way, pulling back the duvet as Miguel turned off the lamp, leaving the cresent moon to softly cast light into the space. Robby's arm came to rest across Miguel's ribs, the other slipping under his neck. His hand, close to Miguel's face, was kissed, and as Miguel spoke Robby could feel his lips move against his fingers.

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

Robby ran his nose along his neck, and Miguel shivered a little, a pleasant tingling up his back.

“Goodnight, babe.”


	8. Day (201)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel takes a walk.

(201)

Walking was almost certainly a bad idea. Too many memories to run into, especially around Westwood.

To his left, he spots the tennis court.

\--

(59)

Miguel stood, ball in hand.

“Your serve again, cutie.” In one hand, Robby casually was twisting around his tennis racket. “Um, Love-Fourty.”

Miguel wasn't nearly as coordinated this way. Despite the karate training, that translated rather poorly to any skill in tennis, and serving effectively was harder than it looked. Miguel's ball hit the net again.

“God, I'm terrible at this.”

Robby laughed. “You're not that bad. I was worse than first started. It takes lots of practice to even get decent.”

“Yeah right. What is that like, my third foul?” There was a grunt, and Miguel just barely hit back.

“It's called a fault. And it still landed, so we'll call that a let.” Robby hit the ball with some ferocity, and it bounced sharply by Miguel's feet.

“Shit–”

“Maybe try underhand?”

Miguel looks dubious. “Uh, sure. I don't think it'll be any better though.”

Robby shrugged. “Just try.”

Miguel swung, and the ball went over.

“Oh!”

Robby swung it back again, and this time Miguel caught it hard enough to land. The smile on his face was adorable, and Robby mirrors his joy.

“See? You just need to practice.”

Miguel served again, a little more enthusiastic in his throw, but isn't so lucky by the time Robby shoots it back, the ball landing with a thud to his immediate left.

Miguel looked back up, Robby smiling rather sweetly across the court. “Game.”

He walked over to Miguel, who was currently a rather sweaty, adorable sight. “Consider the fact that you look so good in tennis whites a small consolation prize.”

He blushed. “Thank you for teaching me to play.”

Robby pressed a kiss to his hair. “No problem, anytime.” The sun was still high in the sky, hotter now without the clouds to filter it.

\--

_It's always sunny here._

Miguel thinks while he walks, thinks about going to the public pool and letting the salt water wash away his anxiety. The pool around this part of town was nicer; you had to pay to get in but he didn't mind; it kept out the absent mothers with screaming kids. He liked to float on his back, looking up at the sky and watching the wind push the clouds on by.

When he gets to the pool, there's the usual gaggles of girls lining the pool chairs, and guys who splash at them from the pool ledge. There's a few adults around, a few families of four or five. He finds a spot easily enough, devoid of other people and he eases in, lazily treading water halfway on his back and letting the sun graze his nose while the water lapped weakly at the corners of his eyes. 

He hears a voice off to the side, a father teaching his child to swim he can only guess, and it's enough to trigger another barrage of memories.

—

(36)

Miguel dipped his head under, trying not to kick up too much commotion as he swam up towards the set of feet, innocently dipped in the water. 

He reached out, and nearly got a foot to the face in Robby’s surprise. He resurfaces.

“You scared me.” 

“Good,” Miguel smoothed his hair back, droplets of water running down his neck. “Come in with me, it's so nice. Or are you gonna plan to sit there all day and try and get as dark as me?” He giggled, eyes lingering over Robby's stomach, toned and glistening with expensive sun oil. “You're gonna be eye candy for those girls over there.” There was the slightest pouty tone to his voice.

Robby’s eyes followed Miguel’s fleeting stare, and simultaneously they both turned to the left, where a small group has made themselves comfy on the patio chairs. He winks, but at Miguel, not the girls.

“Kiss me.” 

Miguel looked around a bit. “Here?”

Robby rolls his eyes. “No, over by that cluster of trees. Yes, here. Unless you didn't want to?” Robby raised an eyebrow.

“No, it's alright…” Miguel pushed himself up, top half slightly out of the water as Robby leaned down, hands on either side of his face, and lets himself be kissed, only slightly wary of the many faces that could be looking.

When Robby let go, Miguel quickly snaked an arm around his waist and pulled, throwing him off balance and into the pool. Miguel swam some feet away, leaving Robby to sputter in the shallow end.

“You little brat.” He shook out his hair, sending droplets flying. “That's it, I'm gonna drown you.”

Miguel just drifted further, slowly with the current. “Come get me.”

Robby paddled somewhat clumsily towards him, and once Miguel lead him to the deep end where Robby's feet didn’t touch anymore, he stopped abruptly while his toes could still graze the bottom. The water bobs up below his chin. “Where are _you_ going, you little troublemaker?”

Miguel stuck out his tongue. “Come swim with me. There's too many kids over there.”

Robby watches as Miguel does a flip underwater, slowly drifting up towards the surface. Hesitantly, Robby swims over to him, his hand going to Miguel's shoulder once he has to get on his toes to touch the bottom.

“No kids really come to this end, too deep here.”

Yes, Robby could feel it, he could see how deep the water went behind Miguel.

Miguel was mentally prying, hinging on Robby's hesitance. “What's wrong?”

“I can't swim that well, um...” He said the next part quickly, cautious and slightly embarrassed. “Never really learned.”

To Robby's relief, Miguel didn't look at him indignantly or make some snide comment about how he was nearly twenty-one and didn't know how to swim properly. 

He continued to hold firmly to Robby’s forearms. “Oh. Well, I can teach you how to tread water, if you want.”

Robby looked down at their feet, Miguel's own swaying back and forth, and Robby's toes straining to touch the floor.

“Uh, sure.”

Together, they floated in the water, Robby still clinging tightly to Miguel and trying not to drag him under in the process. Miguel, seemingly enjoying himself, was giving instructions just like he remembered hearing roughly three years prior, from none other than the dad of the boy he's currently teaching.

“Just kick… not too hard, just kick enough that the water moves under you, like you're trying to swim in place…”

Slowly, but surely, Robby’s feet gained a rhythm that keeps this head above water, and there was a whole two feet between him and the bottom of the pool. There was a clear look of joy on Miguel's face as Robby's chest came just above the water with less struggle than before.

“That's it, you're doing it!”

\--

There's a squeal of joy from what he can only guess is the child, and Miguel's mind quickly comes back to earth. He dips his head under, squeezing his eyes shut as Robby’s words echo in his head, the whole outside world a fuzzy, muffled haze.

_“You're fun, Miguel.”_

He pops up above the water, gasping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the poor tennis jargon. I tried to understand as best I can. I'm a bit of a ditz. Also, that quote on the cover picture is from the Aristotle and Dante novel. c:


	9. Day (205)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel has a nightmare.

Miguel jolts awake, a knot in his throat and a invisible weight on his chest making breathing a difficulty. On instinct, he reaches out to the side–

“Robby…” He mumbles, quickly trailing off when he realizes there's nobody with him, just a cold side of his bed.

—

(105)

Miguel woke abruptly, heartbeat feeling like it could crack his ribs. 

“Miguel?”

Above him, Robby’s expression was worried, both hands pressing down on Miguel's shoulders.

“Are you okay? God, I thought you were gonna have a seizure or something.”

Miguel tried to breathe evenly, a sharp ache borrowing its way through his stomach.

“Uh," He paused, trying to think his words through. "Just a nightmare.” He was tense, a little jittery as Robby’s hands slipped down from his shoulders, some 30 seconds ago had tried to stop him from thrashing around and hurting himself.

Robby laid down against the pillows, extending one arm in an invitation. “Come, lay down.”

Miguel didn't hesitate, cuddling up to him and finding immediate comfort from being pleasantly confined as if he'd wrapped himself in a weighted blanket. He took a few breaths, embarrassingly shaky. Robby was sympathetic, as always. 

"Shh... you're okay." 

Miguel groaned softly. "I'm sorry." 

“Dont be sorry, not your fault. You remember what was it about?”

He couldn't remember really. It certainly wasn't pleasant, he knew that. Most of his nightmares were bordering comical when he revisited them while awake, but somehow always managed to spook him in the middle of the night. Most involved ghosts, or another invisible entity hell-bent on scaring him. Sometimes, he could feel pain as if it were real. 

Robby just held him, petting his messy hair and kissing his forehead. “Well, you're awake now, so you're okay. It was just a dream, it can't hurt you.”

Miguel busied himself with counting the beats of Robby's heart, still feeling his own rapid heartbeat all the way in his throat.

Robby's voice was soft at his ear. “Are you feeling okay?”

Miguel nodded. “What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

“Oh.”

He cuddled closer, head resting just below Robby’s chin, his hands caressing up and down his bare arms. At some point during the night Robby had discarded his shirt, and his skin was pleasantly warm against Miguel's arms.

"Try to go back to sleep, okay?" 

His breathing had evened out by now, and he was getting increasingly tired with the quick decline of adrenaline, sitting here in the dark and listening to Robby’s even breaths. One hand was still petting Miguel's hair, his fingers gently running through it and smoothing over any tangles from the night. 

"Okay." 

Miguel's eyes closed.

—

It was storming, and despite the usual pleasurable excitement storms instilled with him, he was too preoccupied to take the slightest distraction in the pretty flashes of white and the loud rolls of thunder, coupled with all typically soothing sounds of the rain. No such comfort tonight, with his heart rate feeling triple what it should be, and the looming threat of being watched from every darkened corner of his room.

Under his sheets and thick blanket, he hides; a pillow hugged tightly to his body. He hates how his first instinct is to reach out despite nobody sleeping in that part of his bed for a month, and he does miss having him here. He's gotten so used to not sleeping alone that the independence of nightly solitude has now been replaced with loneliness.


	10. Day 226

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel visits the library.

Dark eyes scan the shelves, rows and rows of whatever you could think of, wrapped up in a perfectly quiet sanctuary. His fingers graze a few spines, pausing over something he'd stuck back on the shelf with anger a few months back.

Carefully, he pries it out.

(86)

Miguel walked slowly through the aisles, leading Robby by the hand down the mystery section.

“Didn't know you liked mystery books… you were like, the _one_ boy who read Nancy Drew novels weren't you?”

Miguel squeezes his hand. “Shh. I like finding things out slowly... I loved _Gone Girl_ too _,_ although it made me irrationally angry.”

“What are you looking for?” Robby observed Miguel, crouched down in front of a shelf and thumbing through the stacks.

 _“The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime._ It's about an autistic boy who discovers his neighbours dog stabbed to death with a pitchfork one morning, and wants to find out who did it.”

Robby scoffs. “Interesting.”

“It is… I've been wanting to read it for a while.” Miguel mused, finally pulling the orange book from its slot.

“Found it.”

Robby's chin goes to rest on Miguel’s shoulder, looking over at the book in his hand. “Anything else?”

Robby's caught by surprise as Miguel's head turned, a soft kiss pressed to his mouth. “Wanna play a game?”

“What games do you play in a library?”

“It's more of an activity.”

Robby's mouth curled up on one side, a suggestive reply nearly halfway out of his mouth before an oblivious Miguel cut him off.

“Basically, we both pick out books that we think the other would like, and we sit in an empty aisle and take turns reading little bits.”

Robby chuckled, contemplative. "Sure, why not. That sounds entertaining enough.”

“Good, I'll come find you in twenty minutes, okay?”

Miguel gently squeezed his hand, and with a brief look around the space, pressed an intimate kiss to Robby's mouth. 

They'd abandoned each other in the next aisle, spreading out in search of compatible books. Every few minutes Robby would catch a little black blur cautiously peeking over the shelf, trying to discreetly linger on the four carefully selected choices Robby had cradled under his arm.

“No peeking.” 

He heard soft laughter, and the black hair disappeared swiftly from behind the shelf again, padded footsteps disappearing in the preceding seconds. With Miguel’s curiosity now absent, Robby weighed his choices, finally settling on something that both sounded and looked, rather interesting. He only hoped Miguel hadn't already read it.

By the time the clock hands came to rest at a quarter past three, Miguel popped into his field of vision again, holding a hardcover novel in front of his chest.

“Did you find one?”

Robby held up the book. “Yeah.”

Miguel's eyes sparkled, bright lights glinting off their movements. “ _The Westing Game.”_ He says.

Looking at Robby now, Miguel took his hand and lead him to an empty aisle, tucked into a quiet corner of the library.

Some twenty minutes of reading later, Miguel, as engrossed as he happened to be in Robby's choice of reading material, was more preoccupied with how Robby's eyes looked while treading over the words on each page much more so than his own book. Robby looked up at him, and Miguel suppressed the urge to look back down, like he'd been caught staring at a stranger, or his crush. 

“Babe?”

“Yes?”

Robby lips form a subtle pout. “Is it boring? You don't have to read it. I didn't really know what to get, I don't read too many fiction books to be honest.”

Miguel shook his head, quickly. “No, no I like it, I just… dazed off a bit.” He scooted a little closer, so their knees touched in their cross-legged state. His bottom lip is briefly pulled between his teeth. “You're distracting.” 

Robby's expression turned coy. “I am, am I?” He came closer, legs folding under him as he moved closer still, lowering Miguel's book with one hand, the other making contact with his knee. “Know what else quiet aisles of books are good for?” 

Miguel's cheeks go a little pink, a rather adorable grin creating shallow dips in the corners of his mouth. “You think so?”

Robby nudged his head to the side, a teasing kiss pressed to the skin while Miguel's hand reached down to grasp somewhat needily at the one busy rubbing his thigh. Robby's fingers squeeze his, and a rather aggressive tingling threaded its way down Miguel's side as Robby's lips moved against his neck.

“I _know_ so." 

Miguel tries to speak evenly. “I see you have experience in afternoon library romps, then?”

“A blowjob shouldn't be too much trouble...” Miguel would’ve ducked his head in embarrassment if not for it being held in place. Robby was always blunt. Miguel could barely work up the courage to voice any desire, preferring actions to words. His face was burning, but he was still giddy at the thought of it. “Just stay nice and quiet, okay?” Robby added, and the tiny bite to Miguel's throat felt like a mocking punctuation. "Don't want to get caught in the middle of it, do we?"

He nodded, pulse coming a little harder than before. Miguel's eyes squeeze shut once his jeans are unbuttoned and Robby started his mission to kiss and caress his way to Miguel's heart, not bothering to open them again until he felt his movements abruptly stop. 

“What?” His voice was embarrassingly breathy, something that always tended to happen with Robby. 

Robby looked to his lap, then his face. "I'm not moving too fast, am I? Like I said before, we don't have to–" 

Miguel shook his head again. "No... please, we can, I wanna..." 

Robby looked assured. "Okay..." 

Miguel was kissed again, lightly on the mouth for a few seconds before he pulled back again, seeing his own half-lidded eyes mirrored back in Robby's wonderful shades of green. 

Robby swallowed. Licked his reddened lips. “God you're pretty.” 

This time Miguel let his head drop down, tanned face blushing dark. Robby grinned, not bothering to wait for a reply before he slid down more, and Miguel tried to relax when Robby's mouth brushed against the waistband of his underwear while he peppered intimate kisses along the sensitive skin, and how soft his hair felt pressed against Miguel's stomach.

—

Snapping back to his book, the book he _still_ _hasn't finished,_ Miguel's grip on the library desk is whitening the skin around his knuckles. He let go, watching the colour return to normal in an instant. He lifted his head and his heated gaze beelines for that particular back corner, a couple disappearing behind the stacks.

He hurriedly shuts the book, shoving it back in its rightful place at the bottom of his bag.


	11. Day (104)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you can come in many ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little nsfw.

(104)

Miguel had been in the middle of chopping potatoes when his phone went off, vibrating loudly on the kitchen counter top.

“Hey.”

The line was quiet, Miguel barely registered the shaky inhale after a few seconds.

“Robby? Are you alright?” He dragged out his words a little, unsure. He heard Robby swallow thickly.

“Yeah just… at home. You know. Thought I'd visit my mom and uh…” There was a shallow laugh that Miguel recognized, and he immediately looks around for any sign of Rosa as Robby continues talking.

“Two months ago she decided to start seeing this guy that's, just _fantastic_ … she practically threw me out ‘cause I tried to stand up for her. I mean, he was being such a fucking prick. He's always insulting her, I couldn't help it…” 

Miguel dropped the paring knife. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I didn't mean to break his nose–”

Miguel’s eyes go wide. “ _What?_ ”

"God, and she was so angry with me... She completely flipped out." 

Miguel looked to the window,the yellowish-orange of sunset casting the room in a sickly-looking tint, sticking to everything and creating an unpleasant film over the whole room that reminded him of overripe fruit. He suddenly didn't feel so good.

"Um... " 

“Whatever… it’s fine.”

“Where are you?”

“The school. I might just hang around the library or something until they go to sleep, then sneak back in if I can.” Robby sounded as if he'd ran a significant distance, breath coming in smothered heaps.

“Um, do you… wanna come over instead?”

“...No, it's alright– I'm just, sorry I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, don't apologize...really,” In his sudden nervousness Miguel paced the room, nearly knocking into the couch. “Please come over, I’m… _bored.”_ It sounded flimsy, but he couldn't come up with anything else.

"Bored?" 

"Yeah, you should visit." 

A pause.

 _“Now?”_

Miguel stopped walking. “Yeah, nobody's home, not really anyway..." ” He peeks into the hallway, hearing a television playing from the third room down. “It's just my Yaya, she won't care.”

For a second time, the line was verbally dead and Miguel continued to flounder somewhat cluelessly for comforting words. “I’d really love it if you were here.” He added.

“Are you sure it's okay?” Robby's voice sounded a little more stable, no longer threatening tears in the backdrop. “I wouldn't want to interrupt.”

“You're not.” Miguel shoved the potatoes to the side. Dinner could wait. “I'm not doing anything, I was just drawing.”

Robby hummed. “Oh, what’re you drawing?”

Miguel didn't know what spurred the sudden romantic inclination, but as soon as it left his mouth, he hoped that Robby wouldn't take it badly. “Just practicing some facial features. I could really use a good reference though.”

Robby sorta chuckled. “Does you mean me?”

“Yeah, I can't think of a better thing to look at for an hour, so whad'ya say?”

Robby says _nothing_ , and Miguel once again mentally berates his own poor choice of words.

“Sorry I... that was lame.”

Robby made that humming noise again, sounding sweet this time. “No, it wasn't, that was cute.”

Miguel smiled. Maybe his tendency to spew honey-laden flattery wasn't so stupid of a choice with him. For whatever reason most girls he interacted with, including Sam, disliked it. They always thought he was superficially coy, or trying to land them in bed; it wasn't either of those things but he avoided it as much as he could with people now. It was good to know Robby didn't hate it.

—

Miguel lead Robby through the hallway and into his room, shutting the door and leaning against it while Robby waited by his bed.

Miguel exhaled audibly, smiling. “You need some stress relief?”

Robby's eyes went to Miguel, to the bed, and back to Miguel again.

“Uh, no.” He swallowed, once again looking to his shoes, and up to Miguel's eyes before walking up to him, Miguel back still against the door.

Gently, he pushed some of Miguel's hair back from the side of his face, watching it fall slowly back against his cheek. His hand slipped from his hair and down to his shoulder, and Miguel welcomed the touch.

Robby steps closer, and Miguel takes it upon himself to close the gap between their mouths. Through the movements, Miguel wondered to himself.

_Can you put words into a kiss? Would it be possible to let him know how much he meant to him through intimacy alone?_

Miguel wasn't that good with words. Robby, when he wanted to be, was surprisingly eloquent. The two and a half years of reading verbose, jargon-laden novels and a countless number of poems as a degree requirement might do that to you. Miguel was struggling today especially to even drudge up enough words for proper comfort. He pulled away, watching Robby’s tongue come out briefly to wet his lips. Miguel's mouth hung slightly open for a second or two as he breathed slowly in and out, and he finally managed to conjure up the words that sounded right.

“I'm really glad you're here.”

“Thanks for letting me come over, I appreciate it.” Robby's head tilted downward again and Miguel settled on what he considered to be a universally comforting gesture; a close, but not too tight, hug.

Robby slumped down to sit on the floor, Miguel going along with him. They sat against the door of Miguel's room in relative silence, the soft noises of the TV in his Yaya’s room the only sound besides the city in the distance, visible through the blinds and barely audible through Miguel's open window.

Miguel's head went to tuck itself underneath Robby's chin, and the grip on his ribs is tightened the slightest bit, one hand coming to hold his head to Robby's chest. He could hear his heartbeat, steady and only slightly quick, the rhythmic thumping making him drowsy. Robby's left hand is discoloured purple-ish red around his knuckles, and one of his rings has left a small gash in the skin, the red staining around the gold band. Miguel figured that whenever they get up again, he can clean him up.

He lost track of time as they sat there, Robby running a hand up and down his back or playing with his hair, while Miguel gave little kisses to whatever spots he could reach. Robby's fingers, the same ones currently stained around the knuckles, lifted Miguel’s chin just enough to sneak a proper kiss. It was intimate, unrushed and in the absence of any other touching, made Miguel feel the happiest he's had in weeks. Lightheaded, elated joy was pumping rapidly through his blood and went straight to his brain. Proper judgement be damned, he came upon what seemed like an inevitable confession.

_He loved him._

Why else could he feel this way? He loved Robby and that was it.

The words were dying to come out. Miguel could feel them in the bottom of his throat, and he knew that the next time he opened his mouth that they'd come up, one way or another. Potentially disastrous, but inevitable. Miguel opened his mouth, nothing at first but slowly mumbled his confession into Robby's chest, and Robby looked down. Miguel's eyes met his, and he realized he hadn't heard a word.

“What did you say?”

Miguel swallowed the remaining barricade, and repeated himself, louder this time, but still stifles the emotional momentum with a quick safety net.

“You don't have to say it back, I just- I wanted to say it.”

He didn't have time to see Robby’s face, having closed his eyes as turned his head back towards the floor.

For a while, nothing happened.

If he were being honest Miguel was a bit disappointed, although considering how emotionally damaged as Robby probably was he didn’t expect him to say it back. Maybe he _never_ would, but Miguel would've deeply regretted it if the words never left his own mouth.

Robby's grip tightened momentarily and Miguel took time to glance furtively up at him from his place on his shoulder. Craning his neck slightly, he could've mistaken him for asleep if not for his heartbeat, which was somewhat erratic with short periods of slowing and rising that eventually lead back to its normal state. He breathed in deeply, and Miguel’s view of his face was shifted for a moment. Robby's eyes were still closed, a shallow line appearing in between his brows as he opens them again, Miguel feigning inattention before Robby had the chance to look down.

“Sorry.”

It sounds bitterly remorseful and Miguel vaguely regrets thrusting what was clearly an emotional burden upon him. Saying I love you to someone like Robby Keene probably wouldn't come out as desired no matter how you did it. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut–

He felt himself shifting, Robby’s hands maneuvering him up until Miguel sat upright in his lap, face to face with him again. His skin was tinted pink along his cheeks, over his nose.

“You don't have to say it back. It's okay.” Miguel tried. He didn't quite understand the look Robby was giving him just then, a mix between guilt and anxiety, mouth remaining stubbornly closed but still couldn't keep it from appearing on his face. “Really, Robby… it's fine.” His earlier thought popped back into his head, about words, or intentions rather, through actions. People didn't call it making love for nothing, _right?_

Maybe that was it. Robby would show it, not say it. Miguel made a mental note to observe the little things more as dumb as it sounded, but maybe he was expecting the equivalent of barking from a bird. He kissed him then, and from there the transition was quick, in his intentions easily readable with how he pressed himself against Robby's lap.

He supposed that he could ask at least.

“Do you wanna?”

Robby nodded, the tension on his shoulders giving way as Miguel felt him brighten. “Sure.”

Now the um, _other question._

“What can I do?”

A brief pause, and Miguel's face is handled again, rougher this time as fingers dig into his jaw, lower lip jutting slightly out from the pressure.

“Get on the bed, please.”

He walked to his bed, hearing Robby click the lock closed.

Miguel undressed under Robby's watchful eyes, and positions himself as he's told, his chest flat against the bed and his face turned sideways against the pillow. He let his wrists be maneuvered somewhat painfully behind his back, wrists straining against the ties. Miguel felt his lover’s weight create a slight dip in the mattress as Robby shed his own clothes. He leaned over him, mouth gently kissing at the spot below his ear, and Miguel squirmed a little under Robby's weight.

He was flipped over again, lifted until he was kneeling up and sitting on his calves, and his ability to speak anything else was momentarily taken away, Robby's hands making a mess of his hair.

When he's shoved down again with his chest flat to the bed and his knees bent, Robby's handling of his body is definitely what most people would exempt from the definition of ‘lovemaking’; but it certainly counted for something with how much he kissed him.

Rough never translated to careless, or negligent, or selfish.

Robby was careful, precise. Dare he say, almost painfully intimate.

Miguel tensed, trying to muffle the noises into his pillow as Robby kissed the spot at the base of his spine, slowing the slightest bit.

“Love how you feel…”

A chaste kiss becomes a desperate bite at the side of his neck, Robby's face going to fall against Miguel's shoulder with soft laboured breathing against his neck and more tiny, breathy words escaping in between.

“Love _you._ ” He said, and Miguel snapped back to attention, Robby’s words cutting through the post-orgasm haze.

Eventually the position gets too uncomfortable and Robby pulls off, sliding out of Miguel’s grip and collapsing to the side. Miguel's hands were untied from behind his back, falling away to rest beside him as he turned over on his back, facing up at his bedroom ceiling and still feeling breathless.

They laid like that for a while in Miguel’s bed, separate, but close enough to feel the warmth of each other as the moment stretched on. Miguel wanted to cuddle up to him, to take that place on his chest like he normally did, but the moment already felt too intimate for Robby's probable comfort. So instead Miguel settled on taking his hand, sharing the air from the open window and listening to the television in the other room play game shows while they took comfort in each other's presence.

The sun had gone a while ago, sometime between Miguel's confession and Robby's recipe for emotional catharsis, and Miguel's desk lamp was the only thing cutting through the darkness attempting to leak into the room from all corners. Miguel's eyes were getting heavy. It was barely 9pm but he still felt like sleeping, and he wasn't about to let Robby camp out in the college library again because his own home wasn't an opinion. He wanted to make sure that Robby knew he had the opinion _here,_ whenever such a situation would arise again, as they both knew it would. 

Miguel got up, aware of his bare skin but doesn't mind all that much, shuts off the light and in an instant the room went dark, save for the little bit that came through he window every night, the city lights of the valley glimmering away in the distance. Laying back down, he turned on his side towards the window, the crescent moon peeking through the corner of the glass. Beside him, the mattress dips again and he feels a weight directly behind him, Robby's arm coming to rest across his chest, snaking under his own arm.

Miguel fell asleep steadily, feeling Robby stroking his hair.

* * *

In the morning Robby wasn't there anymore, but that was par for the course. He didn't usually stay long enough to eat breakfast at the Diaz's table in the rare times he would actually stay the night in Miguel's bed. Miguel went to rub at the slight kink in his neck, slightly sore from their tangled snuggling, and felt something catch on his fingertips. His necklace he hadn't bothered to take off now had something hung from its middle, weighing the chain down and feeling somewhat heavy against his skin.

A familiar, dos peso ring.

He eyed his reflection in the mirror on his bedroom wall, gaze drawn down to his tanned chest where it lay sitting in the shallow dip of his sternum, and his hand came up to feel the weight of the ring in between his fingers.

Running a thumb over the textured edge, he smiled. 


	12. Day (107)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robby and Miguel talk about past relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestive/intimate themes.

Miguel blinked open his eyes, the quietness of Robby's apartment threatening to lull him back into sleep. He'd already spent the better part of the morning drifting in and out of waking, tracing little patterns between Robby's shoulder blades while the late-morning sun created tiger stripes of light over Robby's bedroom walls.

He turned over, gently untangling himself from the bedsheets and quietly padding down the hall. It was 10:37 am and he was craving a nice, strong coffee. Over the past few weeks, mornings like this one had made him fast friends with the french press in his boyfriend's kitchen. He'd never really had a taste for coffee before, but there was something nice about the way Robby made it. 

He pushed the lever down and poured it gingerly, careful not to overpour it or spill. He just hoped he put the right ratio of grounds to water. With one mug in each hand he walked steadily back to the bedroom door, pushing it open with his foot. Robby turned just in time to see Miguel in the doorway, green eyes still trapped under the haze of sleep inertia. 

“G’morning, I made coffee.” 

Miguel looked him over. His slightly messy hair, now chopped above his ears, and his naked body in the morning sunlight. Miguel bit down on the very outer edge of his bottom lip, making soft hum in the back of his throat. 

Robby seemed to follow his train of thought. “Morning.” He stretched out on the bed, sheets barely covering anything and Miguel couldn't tear his eyes away. 

Robby smirked, coy. “Something I can help you with?” 

“Maybe.” Miguel carefully placed the cups on the bedside table before inching closer, kneeling down on the bed. Robby didn't make any attempt to reach out yet, until Miguel finally took charge, straddling his lap, palms pressing down on Robby's shoulders. 

He moved his hips a little, and Robby groaned, a tiny, amused huff leaving his mouth. 

“Yes?” 

Miguel repeated the action. 

Still straddling him, Miguel leaned down until his chest was pressed to Robby's, their mouths close enough to kiss. 

“In a mood?” 

Miguel shrugged, a faint blush dispersing across the bridge of his nose, ruining the aloof act. “Maybe.” He grinned as Robby went straight for the sensitive spots on his throat, kissing and holding him down by his hips, making subtle but effective movements in an attempt to tease. 

Miguel was smiling so hard that it almost hurt, a tad overwhelmed by the simultaneous feelings arousal and deep affection. “I really like… the way you kiss.” 

Robby dragged the tip of his nose gently across his jaw, fingers resting precariously on the edge of his pyjama bottoms. “Thank you,” He pressed his mouth against Miguel's neck, covering the forming smirk at his own words. “I like the way you look naked.” 

More heat flooded Miguel's face, dipping his head down in embarrassment, and he could hear a low chuckle as Robby's arms wrapped around his waist. 

Unconsciously Miguel's head flopped to the side, resting in the crook of Robby's shoulder. His brain felt addled in an oxytocin-induced fog, the very definition of lovesick. 

Robby laid down again with his back against the pillows and Miguel still sitting up in his lap, soft hands laid gently on his stomach. Idly, he watched as Miguel’s fingers played with the hem of the sheet, expectant. His palms laid flat against the shallow dips of Miguel's hip bones, holding him flush to his lap and effectively cutting through his daydreaming. 

“Hm?” Robby eyed him, down to his lap and back up to his mouth, watching his tongue dart out to lick his lips, his brain pleasantly jolted to full alertness. He hadn't even taken a sip of his coffee yet. “Ride me.” 

Miguel's hands flew to his face, a silly, almost grimacing smile trying to hide his embarrassment. 

“What're you embarrassed for? You started it.” 

Miguel's silence was endearing, and Robby reached up to shoo his hands from his face, maneuvering both wrists in his grip to keep Miguel from hiding behind his fingers again.

“Why’re you blushing?” 

It was like a game of back and forth, Robby's inquires prompting more heat to Miguel's cheeks, trying to turn his head as Robby seemed intent on keeping eye contact. 

“I don't know,” Miguel admitted, finally. “You look at me like you're interrogating me.” 

“Oh. Is that bad?” 

“Not really, but– you’re very um, _intense.”_

Robby’s joy seemed to recede a little, almost as if he struggled to comprehend how Miguel meant it. “Yeah? I've heard that before.” 

“It's not a bad thing, it's just a look.” Miguel shifted on top of him, wiggling his fingers that were beginning to feel like pins and needles in the tips. “May I have my hands back?” 

They were quickly released, Miguel taking a moment to rotate the stiffness out of his arms, before resting his hands back on Robby's stomach as he sat, still in the same position on his lap, and it was clear that Robby’s patience and wasn’t standing strong.

“Are we doing this, or what? You're being a tease.” 

“You're needy.” Somewhat hesitant, Miguel threw one leg over him, moving to take off his remaining pyjamas.

“Yeah,” Robby reached into the end table drawer for the usual necessities. “And you're confusing.” 

Shoving the sheets off himself, it was pleasantly warm in the morning light still pouring in. 

Miguel sat at one corner of the bed, while Robby leaned back against his headboard, both boys letting their eyes roam over one another. Miguel bit his tongue to prevent an observation at their overall size difference. Remarking how Robby was much more toned and not scrawny looking wouldn't much help for pillow talk; his own momentary insecurities could be forgotten. 

Robby beckoned to him, smile taking on a warmer quality. “Why’re you all the way over there? C’mere.” 

It was so goddamn bright in the room with the sun all over everything, and Miguel was well aware of the potential show they were putting on in front of Robby’s large bedroom window, the busy city traffic making soft noise below, but tried to shove his worries down. 

He loved how Robby sounded; all the little indicators of enjoyment he'd come to expect and know very well, like how he'd tense up his feet and bite at his lip, or how he'd look up at him in lustful awe whenever Miguel was on top. 

As much as he was preoccupied with how his own face looked, he tried to focus on Robby, and a feeling he was trying to desperately chase, if only his thighs would stop getting crampy. 

Robby, helpful as always, helped ease the burden with firm hands and persistent movements, and nothing but the current feelings of bliss was on Miguel’s mind for the next ten or so minutes. 

Not the bright light of the sun. 

Not the big window and the city. 

Not his own insecurities. 

So Miguel let him drag those rather unbecoming sounds from him in exchange for the I love yous that followed. 

He was willing to forget all the negative things about his own body in exchange for Robby's appreciative words and needy touches. 

And it felt so nice to do that, the accumulation of all these nice things into one pretty amazing end.

Vulnerability felt rather shameless in the hands of someone who cared for you. 

“That was _great.”_

Robby chuckled. “I'm glad.” They sat together on Robby's bed, legs crossed and knees touching.

Miguel looked to the wall, shared with another tenant's kitchen. “Was I too loud?” 

Robby shook his head. “No. Besides, he's at work by now, usually. Just the dog at home.” 

That brought Miguel some comfort. He tried not to think of all the potential implications with the downstairs neighbours. They laid in silence for a moment, Robby pushing Miguel's half-curls away from his forehead. 

“Now _your_ hair’s getting long, and curly.” 

“That's what I first noticed about you, your hair.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Miguel glanced up, then back to Robby's pretty eyes. “Not many guys have that kinda haircut. It looked so _soft,_ too.” he admitted. “Wanted to run my hands through it… I like it now though. Makes you look older but, in a good way.”

Miguel tumbled out the last of his words rather clumsily, while Robby leaned forwards, pressing their mouths together in a fleeting moment of careful intimacy that didn't break once he'd let go. 

"Thank you." 

Miguel had a weird thought on his mind. It felt silly. “I had a weird dream last night.”

Robby propped himself up with one arm. “What was it about?” 

“I was trying to sell oranges at the airport.” 

“Did anyone buy any?”

Miguel feigned upset. “No, someone yelled at me because they were trying to adopt cats, and I was interrupting them.” 

“I don't really see the connection.” 

“My dreams never make sense. I have the strangest dreams and they don't mean a thing.” 

Robby smiled, pensive expression taking over the amused one. “I had a girlfriend that would sleep talk. It was funny sometimes, I used to always try to get her to tell me secrets.” 

Miguel thought about that for a moment, both the sleep talking and the idea that this had all happened before. Did Robby’s past girlfriends, or boyfriends, spend lazy mornings in bed with him, talking about their weird dreams and funny anecdotes? How many more were like him?

He wasn't jealous of course, that would be ridiculous. He wasn't Robby's first boyfriend, he knew that, but the curiosity was still nibbling at his brain. 

“You've had girlfriends, _and_ boyfriends, before right? Like, them both? Not just guys?” 

Robby's tongue poked between his lips briefly. “Yeah, a few.” He laid his head on his folded arm, watching Miguel with some scrutiny. “Why? Trying to find out how many people I’ve had in this bed?”

Miguel scrambled, somewhat awkwardly to recover. “No, no, I’m just curious, about that stuff. I'm not jealous or anything.” 

Robby's slowly sat up. “You _really_ wanna know?” 

“I'm curious. You don't have to tell me.” 

“It's fine, it's just not very exciting. Pretty typical." 

Miguel shrugged it off. “You wanna know mine? There's only four.” He hesitated a moment. “And you already know one of them.” 

It takes a minute, but the light bulb goes off in Robby's head. “Oh wow, I haven't talked to Sam in a while… at _least_ a year, maybe two.” 

Miguel had to suppress a grimace. “Me neither. I mean, I kinda tried for a while there.” Miguel didn't feel like bringing that part of the past back up, at least not that particular bit. It didn't matter anyway, it was done now, three years later all but forgotten. “In my senior year I dated a girl named Dawn, and she was really nice. She kinda reminded me of Zoey Dechanel, I guess it was because of the way she did her hair. She really liked animals and wanted to be a marine biologist. She went to school in Canada though, so that was done by the end of the year.” 

“She sounds fun.” 

“She _was...._ then in first year I had two. There was Arsenio from my biology class, he was from Ecuador too... But, that was more of a casual thing, it didn't really last too long. He was nice and, I learned a few things from him.” 

That made Robby chuckle. “You use any of those on me?” 

Miguel got shy again. “Nothing like that... I'd never been with another guy before so you know, it takes some adjusting, to get used to.” 

Robby burst into quiet snickering. “Was that a pun?” 

Miguel waved his hands in denial. “No jeez, I didn't mean it like _that, no,_ not like that.” 

Robby was still laughing, giggling away like he couldn't help himself, until Miguel smacks him on the arm. 

“Ow–” 

“Tell me yours, now.”

Robby makes a low sound in his throat. “Is this a trap? I've heard this question before; 'Just tell me! I _promise_ I won't get jealous'–” 

“I told you _mine,_ it's not a trap.” Miguel stretched out beside him, pleading silently. “Come on, I won't judge and I won't get mad. I just wanna know, for fun.” He exaggerated a childish pout. “Is that so wrong?” 

“Fine, fine." Robby sighed in resignation. "If you're counting high school, there's been nine in total, not including you.” 

“That's not bad.” Miguel countered. "More than me."

“Yeah well, when I told my last girlfriend she got a little weirded out that I'd dated guys before. She liked it during sex, but not so much outside of that.” 

Miguel, all naive confusion etched on his face, couldn't quite grasp the implications of that. “What do you mean?” 

“Uh, it was like threesomes were fine if it were me and her with another guy, but me pointing out an ex on the street or something or even just telling her about a funny situation that happened to involve an ex-boyfriend, it always caused a fight. She got jealous of everyone.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, her name was Angela and she was a pain in the ass."

Miguel grimaced sympathetically. "Sounds like it."

"I mean, it was good sometimes don't get me wrong, the sex was good and all... probably the only reason why I stuck around for six months. I think she'd had me convinced I was better off..."

Miguel didn't say much to that; somehow this little detail felt a tad too significant to interrupt with quasi-automatic replies. He just let Robby talk, and carry on his thoughts. 

"Looking back, I kinda regretted being there for so long. There was really only two other people that I dated even remotely seriously besides her, and with one his parents didn't even know about it. He's the one that got me more into English lit. I never really bothered with it before then, but turns out I was decent at it, who knew."

"What was his name?"

A faint smile graced Robby's face. "Ben."

“What did he look like?” In Miguel's head, he thought that maybe he’d be a blonde, artsy type. Someone who painted abstract pictures and drank coffee only when it was black. 

“He looked a little like you, actually."

“Oh, am I your type?” Miguel inquired, somewhat hopeful now. That put a little more pep in his mood. 

“A little, I guess. I thought you were cute when I first saw you. Couldn't decide who was more attractive at first, you or Sam. Although, you both have pretty bad tempers.” Robby laughed a little, probably hoping Miguel found the humour in a rather ridiculous situation. “Funny how things happen.” He mused. 

“No kidding.... You know, there was a reason I got mad, seeing you with her."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean c’mon. I didn't think of you like how I think of you now, but I noticed.” 

Robby's smile broadens. _“Really."  
_

“Mhm. You caught me staring at you, didn’t you? So I mean it was there, just in a confused form I guess, until you hit me in the head with your frisbee.” 

Robby's eyebrows raise. "I thought you were trying to figure out who I was. I figured you’d recognized me.” 

“I wasn't sure if it was you or not at first, but I also just thought you were cute.” Miguel reached out to tap his nose, pondering over his next question, whether or not it was inappropriate, or too personal.

Robby caught on. “What? What do you wanna know? I already told you, that frisbee thing wasn’t really an accident. They practically threw me at you after that.” 

Miguel weakly shook his head. “No, uh, I was wondering... um, when was your first time? Like, first-ever time?” 

Robby’s smile faltered, but he regained the careless expression pretty quick. “Uh, I don't really remember too well. Wasn't that great.”

A disbelieving smile tugged at Miguel’s mouth. “You don't remember?” He chuckled. “Were they that bad? I've had pretty forgettable sex.” 

Looking to a still-smiling Miguel, Robby slumped down again, laying back on the pillows and appearing more slightly more sullen than before. 

“I'd rather not talk about that right now. Maybe another time.” 

The aura of the room changed a little. Not enough to dampen their mood, but enough for it to be certainly noticed.

Miguel suddenly felt somewhat ashamed. Maybe this is why he didn't want to talk about it. “Oh, um... it's okay, I understand. I uh, sorry, about that.” 

“S'alright.” Robby's voice was easy, calm. “It just wasn't a good relationship. The person wasn't very nice to me.” 

“I'm sorry.” Miguel laid next to him while Robby turned over on his side, their noses almost touching.

“That's okay,” He gently rested his fingertips on Miguel's head again, stroking gently at his temple. “Not your fault.” 

For a moment there was silence again, not as awkward on Robby's behalf as it was for Miguel, silently beating himself up in his own regret, wishing he'd changed the topic before. He was too clueless sometimes. He looked down, eyes fixated on Robby's nose, a little hesitant to look him in the eyes.

Robby broke into a soft grin, much more forgiving than Miguel was of himself. “It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong.” 

“Still, I should’ve just shut up.” 

“Hey,” Robby’s fingers moved in towards his face again, dark eyes following his movements. “You didn't do anything.” He repeated. "Okay?"

He paused for a moment, mouth still partially open like he was on the verge of saying something else, and Miguel tried to make his voice as gentle as possible.

"What?" 

“You treat me a lot better, I don't have to worry about you not wanting anything to do with me for some _imagined problem_ , or that I'm _too much_ or something, and you like when I cuddle you, you don't act angry whenever I try.” 

Miguel stared back at him for a minute, letting that statement turn over in his head. He hugged him then, pressing himself close enough to feel his heartbeat if he tried, not because he looked sad or needy or even that he just felt sympathy, but because he never wanted him to feel that he was ever a nuisance for having feelings. The wall had finally come down enough for Miguel to see to the other side. He wondered silently if anyone had gotten this far before, if Robby had ever bothered to trully let them see in. 


	13. Day (149)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls.

“You ever think of maybe telling him that?”

Miguel listened to Aisha’s voice on speakerphone as he kicked around a footbag, trying to take all the nervous energy out of his limbs. “Tell him what? That I’m reconsidering? This past month has been amazing. I can’t screw that up.”

She sounded skeptical. “Well, calling me to talk isn’t going to do anything but pile it on. For a relationship to work, you have to talk. Well, unless...” 

“...Unless what?” 

“I was gonna say, unless, you don't really intend on being serious with him, I guess it doesn't matter if you're just gonna break up with him.”

The footbag dropped to the ground, Miguel's attention falling elsewhere. “I’m not gonna break up with him, what gave you that impression?” 

Her laugh came out a little tinny through the speaker. “You’ve been complaining about him a lot lately.”

“Everyone complains.” He countered. “Besides, we’re out of the honeymoon stage, it’s normal.”

“If you say so. Don’t you have any other friends to bug about this?” 

Miguel looked to the phone sitting on his nightstand. “You’re the only one who will listen and actually give me advice that’s not just cheating on him.” 

"Who said that ? I think you might need better friends if they’re all just encouraging infidelity for relationship advice.”

"Eli."

She snorted. "Well, that's because he doesn't like him." 

"Yeah, they hate each other." Miguel's voice sounded defeated, as if the long-standing dislike between his high school friend and his apparent boyfriend was just another log on the dumpster fire. 

She mhms at that . “My case in point. If it's not working, you can't force it. Some people just don't mesh together.” 

In an instant, Miguel rolled onto his bed and took Aisha off loudspeaker. He cradled the phone to his ear, feeling a little weighed down by her implications. “Do you think we’re that bad off? Do you think we don't mesh?”

“I mean–”

His voice wavered a little, urgency rising. “I don’t mean to complain about him all the time, it’s just– ugh, I dunno. I don’t know what to do. I don't mean to. I don't hate him.” 

“Relax, I’m not saying you’re doomed or anything. I know you don't hate him... just, let me try to word this right...” 

Miguel closed his eyes, savouring the sight of nothing, occasionally squeezing his eyelids shut tighter and watching the bursts of colours snap around behind his eyes. 

“You just need to talk to him about how you feel. If you want it to work, you’re gonna have to be able to talk to each other… not just talk to me. Communication is important in relationships, you need to be able to talk.” 

Miguel thought for a moment, recalling some unsuccessful attempts from past arguments. “I don't really think he likes to talk. He's not very expressive. He’s pretty emotionless.” 

Miguel’s said very matter-of-factly, but in the same way one might complain about anything they’ve become accustomed to. It was easy to tell that it still bugged him, but Aisha knew of Miguel’s tendency to exaggerate Robby’s flaws whenever he was in a particular mood. 

Regardless, the thought worried her. “That’s… not good. It’s also a direct contradiction to what you told me yesterday.”

“Well, he's not emotionless per se, I just mean he doesn't like to take arguments too seriously, he wants to just forget about them. He says I dwell on things too much but we never resolve anything… it’s kinda funny because he always brings old shit up when we fight but he never wants to do anything about it. It’s really irritating actually.” 

He was bordering it now, the complaints getting less objective and more insulting, but Aisha played along anyway, because she’d been his best friend since high school and god only knows how much they’ve dramatically indulged to each other over the years, the topics of such getting only slightly more serious since they’d stepped out of the high school bubble.

“Yeah, you’ve said that. I mean you do kinda to dwell on things a lot, no offence, but if he keeps holding things against you then that's his problem. He shouldn’t do that.”

His head lolled sideways against the pillow. “I don’t know how I feel. I think I’ll ask him to take a break. Think that’s a good idea?”

Aisha’s voice took on a higher inflection, feigning excitement. “Does that mean I get time off from playing marriage counsellor? Although come to think of it, I might be able to list this on my resume as work experience." 

He groaned in jest. “Yeah, I guess if there’s no relationship, then there’s nothing for me to bitch about.” 

Aisha's background noise is a constant flow of her house, her brother's voice surfaced through the line, and Miguel could hear her mom yell something he couldn't fully decipher. It sounded slightly chaotic, and he wondered if Aisha often played the role of responsible older sister. 

He sighs, a short burst of shame. “Sorry, I know this isn’t fun for you.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just teasing you. I don't mind. I do it too, with school.” 

Miguel watched the lively cityscape from his bedroom window, lights glittering off in the distance, dotting the tops of the hills like the stars would be if only the air weren’t so choked with smog. 

“God it’s cloudy. Looks awful.” 

He exhaled a lungful of air, feeling the usual tiredness from an emotional spew. He was suddenly fed up of talking or thinking about anything remotely concerning Robby Keene. 

“It’ll be sunny tomorrow, supposed to get up to eighty-one. Spring’s coming...” 

She sounded like she was smiling but distracted, and Miguel’s phone pinged shrilly with a notification. Aisha had sent him a gif of a bunny, all fuzzy brown and lop-eared, nose twitching away at the grass. 

He looked into his phone screen, the bunny playing out in a loop. “I’m so sorry.”


	14. Day (154)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold feet.

“So Miggy, we going to finally see this boy again? I thought you'd stopped talking or something.” Carmen had caught him off guard, preening rather meticulously in the mirror, checking over every inch of himself. He was nervous, she could see it easily. “You look nice,” He looked down at his sweater that had caught her attention, a deep grey v-neck he’d picked up, at the suggestion of that aforementioned someone. “I like that on you.”

“Thanks...” The tinny sound was back in his voice.

Robby's peso ring still hung from Miguel's chain, visible above the neckline of his shirt and cradled in the hollow dip of his neck.

“I'm very excited to meet this boy.”

He knew she didn't mean to make him nervous, so nervous that he could feel nausea rolling around in the back of his throat, wishing she'd stop indicating that she already knew what was really going on, although he should have known that this was coming from a mile away. She wasn't dumb. She probably caught on as soon as he first brought up having him over.

It took a while, nearly two months of avoiding his mother inquiring about it again after the first time. Miguel had made them go out that night, an explanation of his chance to finally show her a good restaurant around the downtown core. That was a lie, of course. He was always happy to bring home people for dinner; there was always a little bit of pride in people complimenting his Yaya’s food.

This was different. He was bringing the whole affair home now, to his house, his friends, his neighbourhood. He was bringing Robby _home_ ; to a home with expectations. 

In that instant, he didn't know what to say.

“It's no big deal.”

She'd stopped lingering in the hallway, stepping forwards into his room and in behind him, looking at his eyes through the mirror. Miguel met his mother’s reflection, and his hand found its way to the chain around his neck, suddenly feeling more like a burden than a prize token of love well-earned. She looked at him over his shoulder, a gentle but apparent sympathy in her eyes.

“What's wrong?”

He shifted around on both feet, looking down at his dresser for an imaginary need.

“Nothing.”

A teasing smile appeared on her face. “You afraid we’ll embarrass you in front of him?”

She laughed, but then it came off more mocking to his already heightened defences, ready to shoot back any ideas she had coming. 

"He's just a friend, mom." Miguel turned towards his mother, probably looking at her with more anger than he ought to, watching as the sympathy in her eyes gloss over with disappointment, while guilt settled insidiously in his stomach. “I- he's, it's _nothing.”_

Her brows pulled together, the sudden hostility lost on her, his misplaced anger certainly no cover for someone caught off guard. “Miggy...” –She reached out, and Miguel knew she’d brush his hair back and tell him she loved him, tell him that it didn't matter– “Robby seems like a really nice boy. Yaya thinks you two--”

“He's a _friend._ ” He stopped that thought before it even made it out of her mouth. That idea could not be in her head, it just couldn’t all evening long. “I don't like him that way, okay? He's a friend... _just_ a friend.” He licked his lips, and felt the need to further cover his bases even if it meant unintentionally throwing Robby under the bus. "At least he is to me." 

But repetition never made a statement truer, and in Miguel’s case, felt all the more futile as a way to express any truth to his feelings. She knew it, he knew it, everyone in the goddamn world seemed to look at him and Robby and see lovers.

A couple, and he didn't know if he wanted to be seen that way anymore. For whatever reason, he’d woken up one day to find that his brain had turned on him, a realization that made every kiss and soft touch a conscious effort not to let it slip through.

Carmen stepped back a little, hand drawing back to her side, and he felt all the more disgusting for saying that.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to make it a big deal.”

A little voice, creeping up from the back of his mind tried to reason with that, but that a louder voice, directly stemmed from his own self-consciousness, was smothering that thought to oblivion. Trying to keep the whole thing a secret still, his stupidly dense ego and all the words he ever spoke in this supremely fucked up headspace that had Robby question if he was even into him.

“I-It’s okay.” He sounded weak.

Covering his own ass for something that didn't even matter, because right here in his room while he worried over his appearance, his mother was nothing but supportive. There was no reason to deny it.

She backtraced out of his room, and with a steady look back told him that dinner would be ready in half an hour.

Miguel turned to face the mirror again, glaring at himself, the little part of his brain taking all control of his mouth, demanding an explanation, softly in its protest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

—

During dinner, Robby's foot has gently bumped his, a small caress to his ankle that had Miguel tensing up so bad that his knee jerked up against the underside of the table. Rosa couldn’t resist a joke.

_“Look at them, can't keep their hands off.”_

Miguel's cheeks went red, Robby seemingly lost in blissful ignorance.

“Mama,” Carmen looked over both boy but more pointedly at Miguel, who wanted to crawl under the floor. “ _Robby is Miguel’s friend.”_

 _“A friend.”_ he said, again _. “Please.”_

Robby’s foot retreated immediately.

He understood _that._

Miguel had never felt more stupid.

_—_

After dinner, Miguel walked Robby to his car, declining the invite back to his own apartment.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“No problem.”

Robby got in the car, and Miguel tapped on the closed window, a last-ditch effort to save face. It rolled down, and Miguel couldn't help himself from lightly clinging to the empty frame. 

“Can I call you tonight?”

Robby looked towards the road, then back at him. “Sure, if you want.”

Miguel nodded, that guilty feeling coming back full force. “Yeah, okay. Uh, sorry I can't come over, I just– I promised my Mom we’d watch a movie together tonight.”

Robby’s mouth parted, tongue going to rest on the back of his teeth. “Don't worry about it.”

Miguel unlatched his fingers as the window started to roll up.

“Bye!” He waved, but Robby didn't seem to catch it.

Stepping backwards onto the sidewalk, he watched Robby’s car speed down the street.

—

Miguel laid in bed, phone pressed to his ear. Through Robby's moments of silence, anxiety was piling on his chest, breaths coming a little heavier in quiet, deep exhales.

“Hello-o?”

“I'm here.”

He swallowed. “Is everything okay?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I–”

“You're a real idiot sometimes. What'd you expect me to feel about this, happy?”

Miguel scowled. “I'm not an idiot.” he deadpanned. “I just meant like, who cares if we're official or not, maybe just tone down the committed stuff.”

“You're the one who wanted a fucking date from me!”

The bite in his voice sent Miguel reeling a little. Robby never yelled at him like that, he’d never even sworn at him before.

He hiccupped. “I don't want to break up, Robby. I just–”

“Yeah, I get it. Need a break from me. Great.”

In the two seconds that Robby went silent, Miguel felt like hanging up and throwing his phone across the room.

“No,” Miguel's voice carried noticeably higher, to his embarrassment. “Can you calm down?”

He heard Robby's annoyed sigh clearly, sardonic laugh in the foreground and grating on Miguel's nerves.

“I don't get you, I really don't.”

Miguel sighed, a frustration-laden output of desperation. “Fine! I'm sorry I brought it up, I don't want to break up–”

“Yeah? Well, what if I do?”

Miguel's stomach suddenly felt like it was greeting his tonsils. “What?”

“What if I said I wanted nothing to do with you anymore?”

His mouth froze in mid-retort, throat suddenly too seized up to say anything. “I… I don't know.”

More radio silence, and regret doesn't just seep into his chest, it wasn't not a slow or subtle ache in his gut reminding him of his conscience. It was a hard, painful punch to the mouth, tears welling up in his eyes as quickly as blood from a loosened tooth. They didn't swallow down nearly as well.

“Are we breaking up then?” Miguel was surprisingly steady-voiced.

“I don't know.”

“Do you _want_ to break up?”

“You said you wanted to take a break, do you not?”

“I just meant like, I– we should cool it with the moving so fast, like... with the...”

He almost wanted to say _love._

“–With the couple-y stuff.”

Miguel tried to keep the edge out of his voice, and the annoyed connotation out of his audible breaths.

“We still doing it?”

“It? Uh, like–”

“Sex, Miguel. Should I still expect you coming over, or is sex off the table now?”

Robby once again managed to subvert any expectations Miguel had. “Uh, no– wait, I mean yeah I guess so... if you'd like to.”

“Might as well. I can just as easily send you out after. It was you who always chose to stay.”

Miguel grit his front teeth, trying for his sake to sympathize with the boy on the other end of the line, because in all honesty, he knew what it felt like to be in Robby’s position. His memories of feeling rejected by someone he thought would never be ashamed of him, only to find out they'd been hiding him away like a kind of sordid secret, was humiliating.

“So this becomes no strings attached again, right?” Robby asked. 

Regret was a poor feeling for what Miguel was experiencing at that moment. He swallowed back the pain in his throat. 

“Yes.”

But it was always better to have something rather than nothing. 


	15. Day 173

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation.

Day (173)

He just wanted a burrito.

The school’s main cafeteria served good ones, and he was hungry, so why not? What could possibly happen?

He regretting even thinking about it. 

As soon as his boyfriend-turned-hookup passed by him, certainly not alone and laughing like he _knew_ Miguel could hear, the tempting smells of fresh veggies and savoury, grilled beef didn’t have the slightest chance at regaining his attention. He shimmied left, out of the short line and did his best attempt at sneaking, weaving his way to the drink machines; a safe enough distance to catch an inconspicuous glimpse. A few times they’d talked, passed him the halls and waved, a short phone call that ended with none of the usual sweetness, and countless glances back and forth whenever Miguel caught him in the library. If Robby was angry, he sure didn’t show it. To Miguel, it looked like nothing short of indifference mingled with the slightest inkling of knowing smugness, and despite Robby’s initial enthusiasm towards keeping their no-stings attached trysts alive during their supposed break, they hadn’t so much as touched one another since then.

He was currently in the company of someone else, a brown-haired, somewhat petite girl that reminded him a bit of Sam. Miguel wondered somewhat bitterly, considering what knowledge of Robby's past loves had afforded him, if his attraction to women was mostly made up of pear-shaped brunettes.

This girl, the _Not-Sam_ lookalike certainly fit that bill well, and Miguel found himself hating how pretty she was. 

With Robby currently all shiny hair and charming smiles, Miguel let himself linger too long on his object of desire and was promptly caught off guard by the sudden turning of his head, left with nothing but to keep staring like an idiot, doing a poor attempt to conceal himself in the brightly-lit rows of drinks. Miguel dipped his head down to hide his blush, Robby's discernible, unimpressed glare going unnoticed. Not-Sam brushed against his arm in the direction of the sandwich bar and Robby trailed after her with one last glance behind his shoulder at Miguel, who made sure to hold his stare this time; suddenly feeling a touch more brazen as a strange, unfamiliar feeling tumbling through his stomach. A fiery, itching heat trailed down his body, and he made a rather grievous mental insult to the girl walking step in step beside his _–keyword being his–_ lover. Feelings of jealousy always had such an unpleasant stranglehold on his thoughts, his actions, his frame of mind, and he remembered how easy Robby went down the first time he’d shoved him. 

Somewhat reluctantly he walked back into the cafeteria, intent on simply eating his feelings.

The placating effect of the burrito diminished nearly as fast as it had come, winding down along with his hunger. He threw the rather unappealing end piece, which by then had soaked up too much sauce, into the trash and stalked hastily to where the buses had come to congregate. He waited in silence, having forgotten his headphones in his room. Little pitter-patters of students going by, broken up by bus engines as he strained to see far enough to discern which one in the upcoming four or so was his. Without his usual glasses, everything more than a metre away was just a fuzzy haze; so he stood there, silently cursing the dreadful plight of myopia. 

Then someone tapped him on the shoulder, harder than necessary. 

“Yes–” He whirled around quickly, and those bottle-green eyes were the closest to him that they'd been all month. Miguel stiffened, Robby's unannounced presence having a rather ill effect on his blood; being in such close proximity after a whole month had rendered some unexpected side effects. He didn't know whether he wanted to say _take me back_ or _take me home._

Maybe both. 

After a second he finally settled on something inclusive of neither plea. “Can I help you?” 

Robby’s mouth turned up on one side. “I should really be the one asking you that.”

Miguel frowned, somewhat wary. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the one whose been following me,” Green eyes flickered downwards a moment, down to Miguel’s hands that were busy twisting gently at each other's fingers. “A month without sex getting to you, or what?”

The blood rushed to Miguel’s face in record time. “What the fuck, that’s what you came over here to say? Sorry that I’m not on a different person every week, but I have more important shit to deal with right now.”

Robby barely reacted to the apparent insult. “I can see that. You were awfully engrossed in those five pages of your textbook yesterday, for a whole hour and a half,” He smiled again, more taunting than humourous, at least in Miguel’s opinion. “Although, I wouldn’t expect to get much done when you’re busy eye-fucking an ex.”

Miguel nearly shoved him into the adjacent wall, the emotional sting of the word ‘ex’ glaringly apparent. “I _was not_.” 

“Since when did you get so touchy?” 

_“Touchy?”_ He looked around, aware of the other students milling around not far from where they stood. “You’re sitting here insulting me and insinuating I'm grumpy cause I haven't been screwing you, so how _am_ I supposed to take that, exactly?”

“I’m not insulting you.” 

“ _Yes,_ you are–”

He interjected. “I’m teasing you.” Robby stepped closer, a downright salacious glint in his eyes. The edge in his voice had gone, now only a light, flirtatious whisper. “C'mon Miguel... I thought you liked it when I teased you?”

Miguel’s mouth opened, but nothing. He had nothing. Stuck between his body and his brain, he tried to push through the initial feelings of having Robby so close again. This entire conversation had flipped on its head. Again. Robby was good at that. 

“I- I don’t know.” He groaned internally at himself. _Good going, idiot._

Robby chuckled softly. “Listen, I was thinking of hitting up a bar this weekend so why don’t you come along? We can maybe...” He seemed to fumble around for the correct words. “Catch up.”

Miguel tried to study his face, tried to see the reason behind the sudden offer; although he supposed that this wasn’t completely outside the realm of wanting to simply get him into bed. A bar wasn’t a dinner date, nor was it a night out someplace romantic, it’ was, to put it simply, to drink and to hook up. He supposed that was enough explanation as any.

In his peripheral, he saw his bus pull up some two meters away, red digitized letters rolling slowly across the front display and feeling much like a unwitting saviour. “I gotta go,” Miguel paused in thought. Robby, now noticing the vehicle to his left, took a step back to give him space.

Languidly he strode backward a few steps, abruptly turning on his heel and jogging towards the bus before it had time to fill up with eagerly awaiting students, not at all keen on giving Robby the satisfaction of a definitive answer. 

But stubborn as always, Robby called out after him.

"Is that a yes?" 

For a second, he spun around to face him again. “I’ll think about it, okay?” 

Not like he really had any viable evidence to suggest otherwise. The pining glances said it all. It was rather pathetic. 

"I'll pick you up!" 

Miguel practically raced up the steps, slumping down in his seat once he'd sat down. His stomach was jittery with anticipation, evidently a much more pleasant feeling than what he'd woken up with. 


	16. Day 176

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the bar fight.

(176)

Miguel's temples throbbed a little. Maybe Robby was right about last night, and the alcohol had more of an effect on him than he thought. He hadn't felt drunk at the time, but maybe with all the tossing and turning, his head hadn't quite settled right.

He got up nearly forgetting who had come over in repentance last night, and was almost happy until he remembered they had talked about nothing, just said goodnight after Miguel had used up one too many tissues on his overenthusiastic tear ducts. Just said goodnight and then let Robby screw around with him in the morning.

Spitting uselessly into the sink, he washed his mouth out in hopes that the stale, bitter taste would leave his tongue. He brushed his hair back with his fingers, combing through the minor knots.

He didn't want to start another fight, but nothing was resolved in the first place, how could he feel happy when they were still in the exact same position as before?

Robby appeared in the doorway still shirtless, smiling with an attempt to be hopeful.

“Hey.”

“Morning,”

Miguel looked up at him through the mirror, and hastily threw back a cup of mouthwash to swish around.

“How’re you feeling?”

He spit. “M’alright.”

Robby moved beside him to brush his teeth while Miguel strayed a little ways behind him, every once in awhile meeting green eyes through the reflection, watching Robby quietly, trying to figure out the right words to speak.

“Could we, uh...”

_Talk? No, not right. Too formal… too–_

_Clingy._

He frowned.

Robby looked up from the sink again, aware of his half-baked sentence. “Hm?”

Miguel struggled still. “I was wondering, maybe we could– maybe we could _talk_ , about last night? Maybe, if you want to still.”

Beat. Robby nodded. “Sure,” Standing straight again he faced Miguel, whose first instinct was to step back. “How about I make us breakfast first though?”

Miguel looked to his kitchen, down the hall of the apartment that was still holding boxes around the edges of the rooms.

“Sure,” He looked at the other end of the hall, his bedroom where his belongings were stacked against a mattress that still needed a frame. He felt dumb for wanting him to come along, but ‘feeling dumb’ never really stopped his mouth from spitting things out before.

He followed Robby into the kitchen where he was cracking eggs into a ceramic bowl fished out of the closest cabinet.

“I need to put together that bed frame I bought; its been sitting there...”

“I hope you got a metal frame. We can't break that one.” Miguel cleared his throat. Robby chuckled, not even having to turn. “You're hot when you blush.”

Miguel fought back the smile, gently hoisting himself up to sit on the countertop. “Thanks.”

He watched as the onions simmered in oil, bubbling slowly around the sides of the pan, observing how gentle Robby's fingers were when they pressed down on the green pepper whenever he sliced it and thought for a moment how stupid he was to envy the tenderness his own lover showed to a simple vegetable.

Automatically his fingers went to his hips, already tender in all the usual spots. He shifted, pain shooting up his spine when he leaned back just a little too much.

—

The two of them laid on Miguel’s bed, now a good two feet off the ground, not including the rather thick mattress.

Miguel grinned at the ceiling, now seeming closer up. “I like it this way.”

“You're gonna break your nose when you fall out of bed.”

“I've never fallen out of bed before.” Miguel countered.

Robby shrugged. “I don't know _how_ , you toss around like crazy.” 

Miguel felt the dip in the mattress sink lower, and for a moment turned on his side, watching Robby through his half-closed eyes.

“You can have the honour of being my guard rail.”

He had to stop himself from implying the sort of permanence and expectation that went along with that joke, a subtle plea for Robby to stay the nights more often.

“Fantastic,” He watched Robby’s lips move. “Good thing you're so light; at least I won't bruise anything by you rolling over me.”

Miguel laughed, feeling the mattress bounce a little with his shifting weight. “Isn't it comfy, this bed?”

Miguel made a quick decision and slid his arm up to rest his hand in Robby's palm, fingers threading together in a loose hold, thumb caressing Robby's index.

“Thank you for helping me.”

“No problem.” 

Miguel shifted around a bit, a rather pervasive thought coming to mind. “So um, about yesterday…”

“Mm?”

“I just… I just wanted to know why you said that.”

Robby eyed him from the position on his back. “Said what?”

“When you told that guy off.”

“I thought the problem was that I _didn't_ tell him off. What more is there to say? He left me alone.”

Miguel's voice lowered noticeably. “Yeah, but I liked like an _idiot_ … all over you, and then you say that.”

“You were drunk, don't worry about it.”

“That's not the point.”

He heard Robby sigh. “What did you want me to do? Kiss you in front of him? I thought you wanted casual.”

Miguel’s momentarily trapped his tongue in between his teeth, feeling the edges dig into the point of mild pain. “I guess I just expected something different last night. You invited me to catch up., I thought–”

“We did _catch up,”_ Robby puffed out a laugh under his breath, and Miguel’ realized that _catching up_ was a completely different concept between them. “I spent the night, didn't I? I thought you wanted casual.” He repeated.

“I just…” Miguel trailed off. He didn't want to say ‘I don't know.’ Falling asleep next to Robby again felt good. It felt _really_ good. Cold feet is normal, right? Why was he being punished for it? All he did was be honest. “I got nervous.”

“I guess so. You're a little confusing sometimes.”

Robby suddenly released his fingers from Miguel’s hold, coming up to scratch the bridge of his nose, leaving Miguel to slowly tuck his arm under himself once he realized that Robby’s hand wasn’t taking back the open spot.

“I'm sorry.”

Another quiet breath. “Me too.”

With the absence of anyone speaking, Miguel started to think. A mild panic loomed at the back of his mind, trying to dissect Robby's tone. His left foot had decided to sway rather conspicuously, the flexing if his toes feeling much in tandem with his thoughts that started to become anxious mush.

“Don't get yourself worked up." Robby tilted his head to look at him. "I just meant that I'm sorry for making you upset."

“Oh.” Miguel felt a bit stupid. He still wanted Robby's hand back. He wanted to take his hand and lay closer so he could actually hold him. 

Robby's weight in the mattress dipped again, and for a second Miguel thought he'd beaten him to the thought.

“Reminds me,” He started to sit up, but didn't move any closer. “I need to go grocery shopping.”

Miguel followed suit, sitting up on his elbows. “Want me to come with you?”

“Nah, I should probably get home anyway.”

Robby got up, standing upright and making it halfway down the hall before Miguel’s feet even touched the floor. Scooting off the bed, he followed Robby to the front door. He wanted to at least see him out.

“Forgot about a paper too…” Robby mumbled in between tying up his shoes. "Shit. Oh well, an all-nighter I guess.”

“I can help you if you want. I know I'm not in the same classes, but I could try like, editing and stuff.”

“It’s okay.”

“Alright…” Miguel watched Robby eyes rove over his frame with slow recognition.

“When'd you put that on?”

“What, oh–” Miguel momentarily forgot he was wearing someone else's clothes. “An hour ago.”

“Oh.”

“You want it back?” He asked, rather half-hearted.

“Uh,” Robby seemed to deliberate a moment, eyeing the sweater in particular, rather than Miguel _in_ the sweater. “Yeah, I need that back.” 

Miguel was slightly disappointed. Obvious warmth of the day aside, he still could’ve just given it back to him tomorrow.

Regardless, he pulled the deep-blue garment over his head and watched Robby sling it over his arm. He stood there a minute before Miguel had the sense to open the door, sweater draped over one arm and his skateboard tucked under the other.

Miguel piped up. “I'll see you later then?”

“Yup.”

“Let me know if you need any help, on the paper.”

Robby nodded, a subtle upward curve to his mouth. “I will.”

A tiny, precise moment hung where either of them normally would have leaned in. It was almost muscle memory and Miguel nearly stopped himself too late once his instincts came through.

“See you.”

Miguel waved to Robby’s retreating back. “Bye...”

Slowly, he shut the door.

Looking to the clock, it was only 3 pm; the sun still shining brightly in the afternoon springtime.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but he'd woken up as if with a faint impression of what was to come.

Something had changed. Something was altered beyond fixing, and Miguel was left with nothing but the inevitable downward slide, feeling that prickly sensation in his chest again, like the time he first called Robby clingy.

He couldn't help focusing on that little moment, where Robby didn't even slip up and almost lean in, or look even nearly as careful as he had when telling Miguel he needed his sweater back.

It was an automatic no.

He didn't have to think about it.

Maybe his nose didn't itch, but he needed some excuse to keep the barrier.

He hadn't turned to look at him or lean forward to give him a goodbye kiss. Miguel suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night, and how Robby didn't bother to say anything to the guy so openly interested in him until Miguel stepped forward in an (admittedly tipsy) sense of expectancy.

Something _had_ changed, and the hole it had gouged out so suddenly from Miguel's sense of stability, felt downright horrible the more he thought about it, but ruminating felt better than letting it fester as stagnant _water under the bridge,_ even if the only person to resolve both sides was himself.

He laid on his bed, thinking rather bitterly of how Robby hadn't even noticed the sweater covering his body, all while he’s been laying right next to him.


	17. Day 194 (reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy, pt. 2.

(194)

The hours in the day almost seemed shorter as spring pushed on, and Miguel would enter and leave school most days in near-dark, as if his daily trek to school was so early that even the sun wasn't even ready to greet him yet. It spared him no glance back at the same time, the main library a familiar shelter until dusk inevitably rolled around at 8pm. If he were lucky, he caught the deep orange and yellows of the dozing sun, streaking the sky in little ribbons that cut into the night like reverse tiger stripes. 

Exam season was a drag. 

He hated being left to the darkest hours. It felt like he was missing many things that he would normally happen upon, but wandering through dimly lit roads didn't leave much time to pause or reflect, and Miguel missed the sights of the lilac trees in the bright blue sky, the ones that he could smell blooming as he walked down his apartment’s road at dawn.

The end of semesters could be rather isolating, too. He hardly saw his friends from class much, or his roommate.

He checked his phone, but there were no messages from the one he longed to talk to most. He figured that maybe he was busy too. Last time they'd spoken Robby had mentioned two weeks of finals, spread out unceremoniously in the most undesirable of ways, and Miguel pitied him.

He'd replayed that conversation in his head a little bit, thinking of him as he walked down the hall, iced coffee in hand and readying himself for another round of _man versus large quantities of info._ He was tired, synapses firing on automatic as he turned down the hallways, large glass windows allowing uninterrupted peeks into the main computer lab, where his head automatically turned to look.

Something akin to nervousness coursed through his chest, weaving tight patterns into his thoughts, and he stood a moment, stricken with the simultaneous feelings of flight and fight as he watched Robby press his mouth over another's face. Cute, light kisses right at her mouth.

 _Her_ mouth.

He hadn't seen her before this, but he hated her at once.

His urgency to confront the situation was momentarily halted by the feelings of nausea starting to creep in. Willing his feet to move from their rooted spots, walked as calmly as he could through the open doors, and proceeded to announce his presence at the back of Robby's head.

_"Hey."  
_

As he turned, those pretty green eyes shut tightly in the sudden onslaught of cold coffee.

The girl jumped back, narrowly missing soaking her shoes as the mostly-empty plastic cup tumbled to the floor with a wet thud.

Miguel's voice was shaky. "You could've at least told me, asshole. Really nice way to dump someone."

Miguel's anger, rapidly changing tides to a sort of deeply anguished depression, is only heightened when Robby finally looks up, wiping at his face, and there's a rather humbling look of disgust.

The girl swore quietly, looking rapidly between them. Somewhere, Miguel's brain registers her voice, irately confused and somehow gentle.

"I didn't know, that you… that you had a boyfriend." 

She looks between the two boys, but Miguel’s eyes are strictly upon Robby.

“He _doesn’t.”_ Miguel spat, taking one last look over Robby's shifting eyes and down towards his mouth, curled downwards in tightly controlled anger. He spares a glance in the girl’s direction, trying to curb his own anger from bubbling over, trying to stop himself before he lashed out toward someone who hadn’t really done anything wrong in the first place. 

“You can have him.”

In this state, his own righteous aggression was rapidly dissolving to a anxiety-fueled panic as he felt people's eyes on him, hushed voices discussing what should have been done in private. He needed to leave, right now.

He spun round to face the open doors, and walked hastily out.  
  



	18. Day (199)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls, pt. 2.

(199)

“It’s all my fau-lt…” 

“No, it’s not, you did the right thing! It’s over now, you’re gonna feel better about this.” 

“Why do I fuck everything up?”

“You don’t, Miguel.” 

“Yes _I do-o.”_ Miguel whines, stretching a hand over his eyes and feeling the clamminess on his cheeks. “I _do._ I messed up with Sam, I messed up with Fey, and I really, really screwed up with Robby. I’ll keep doing this with _everyone.”_

"You have a problem with jealousy… but you can fix that!" 

He does that whining, near-keening noise again, sounding hopelessly strung out with no words. 

Aisha's voice drags with sympathy, hearing Miguel as a barely-coherent mess. “Yeah, and what happened with Sam? You gave it time and it got better after a while. Just gotta give it some time.” 

“But I never got her back… and I’ll never get him back. It’s like I do these things that I hate and I can’t stop it, it’s like I sabotage myself on purpose and I don't know _why_...”

The moment stretches on, and Aisha tries to choose the words carefully, already hearing Miguel heaving quietly on the other end of the line. 

“Then you gotta learn from this. You gotta sort out whatever was going on there. Remember, you gotta keep moving forward, or you’ll get stuck. Do you remember that?”

No response, but she knows he's still listening. “You gotta keep pushing forwards, and it’ll get easier. Lean into the pain and it’ll get easier to confront it. It'll be okay...” 

Miguel crumples to the floor, the phone still pressed to his ear even with his head down between his knees. 

"I don't wanna keep doing this, but I can't... I don't know how... I don't know how to fix it." 

She doesn't really speak right away, just a few stutters of words in this emotional mess, but Miguel senses that she's trying. 

"I don't think I like myself too much." He admits. 


	19. Days 203-224

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratt, depression clothes, and a destroyed bedroom wall. 
> 
> aka the stages of grief, I guess.

Make me run

Make me run more

Let my feet rip apart with wounds

At least I can smile when I see you

I run, run, run

I can’t stop

Run, run, run again

I can’t help it

This is all I can do anyway

All I know is how to love you

  
– _Run_ , BTS

(203)

Muffled voices and heavy footfalls permeate Miguel's bedroom wall; his neighbour is having a party. It's loud enough to reach his ears easily, thick vibrations occasionally making the floor rattle. 

Go figure they'd play this. It's just his luck. He doesn't know what her name is, but he really wants to be an ass and call the front desk on her despite that it's only 11pm on a Friday— but he can't stand the sound. 

Selena's voice permeates his entire expanse of breathing room, feeling like it's smothering him while Robby's presence makes an unwelcome intrusion into his conscious thoughts. 

He feels embarrassed just to replay the moment. 

He hasn't gone to that library since. 

In his quiet resentment, he throws a pillow against the shared wall and flops down in bed. 

(208)

The clock ticks away. An hour, maybe two, have passed but he can't seem to remember anything he reads. 

His eyes dart around. A few tables are filled, but he is alone, in the middle of the library reading boring sentence over boring sentence that he could not give less of a shit about. His first exam is in a week, but somehow that seems unimportant whenever he ruminates tirelessly about how badly he managed to screw things up with Robby. 

He can't distract himself forever, but the campus, the part of town he sees every day, is a constant reminder. 

He aches to go home and be done with this. 

(224)

He'll get back at what's-her-name. 

She hates _Ratt,_ as she so keenly pointed out to him one day while he was playing it from his car speakers, window rolled down and open while she invited him to her little party. The party he knew he wouldn't bother going to, despite her being nice about it. 

It's not blaring, but it's loud enough for the quiet of the day to hear it, but even if she's not home at this particular minute, he doesn't care. The true intent isn't really to annoy _her in particular_ , but to get the annoyance of Selena, a voice he hadn't minded originally but now grew to hate through association, out of his mind along with the memories it made him mentally puke up. 

He throws his fists out in the dimness of his room, Round And Round drifting from his phone's speaker and idly reminding him of Billy Hargrove instead of Robby Keene. As usual, the arguments in his head circle back around him like a noose, and he can't get it out of his head until it's far too deep, making imaginary statements to an empty room not audible over the music. The feelings of 'how dare he?' resurface with a fury, and one zealous punch is enough to set him back to reality as cheap drywall caves under his fist, stopping the thought entirely, utterly unsure whether it was out of anger or error. 

Miguel looks to the hole in the wall, turning around to face his bed before he has the urge to punch it again just out of spite. 

"Fuck." 


	20. Day (236)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel spends some time at the park.

(236)

He must be a glutton for punishment. A masochistic _idiot_ for coming here, sitting on the same branch, with a peanut butter cookie for the finches.

He opens his phone. No messages.

He looks around, the sun is still hot, the birds still chirp, but it's a little depressing being here again.

(42)

The sun was hot, a little too hot. He wished he'd worn something other than a black t-shirt. His skin felt a little sweaty, and the shaded park bench looked as inviting as a pool right then.

He sat down, under a large tree where bits of light swam in and out of his vision, leaves making patterns in the grass under their shadow. The breeze felt nice.

He opens his messages, two from Aisha, and the one from Robby, asking him where he was going for the day. Miguel had told him he was walking downtown.

There were pigeons by his feet, broken up by blue jays and tiny blackbirds, pecking at the ground. The pigeons waddled in their pudgy gait, and Miguel playfully reached out to touch, but none came close enough. He had no bread to give, so they didn't bother with him too much.

He giggled to himself, and snapped a picture for Robby, captioning it, “I'm making friends.” he pressed send, hoping it might put a smile on his face.

Their last date went well, and alone that made him look at his own romantic capabilities in a much more optimistic light.

Robby was handsome, charming, funny. Overall, quite a catch. He liked the aura he held about him, how he'd walk down the halls looking confident but not cocky, and how he acted with his friends, as if he called the shots for what mattered. He was smart, too. Foolishly, Miguel thought English would be filled with stuck up snobs who didn't know how to socialize beyond conversations of Jane Eyre and Hawthorne, or filled with people who were terrible at practical things like math. But Robby wasn't stuck up or bad at math… he was actually good at math, he just didn't _like_ it.

Miguel sat listening to the sounds of the outdoors, to the people milling around, and to the cars on the street some feet away, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Robby, replying to his last text. Miguel replied, telling him about the park, and the little birds.

 _Robby_ :

_Finches like sunflower seeds if you have any. They also like cookies. Just don't try and scare away the hordes of pigeons that will inevitably be there once food drops._

He typed back. _Why?_

_Because pigeons poop when scared. It's a defence mechanism like llamas spit. It's really gross. :p My mom learned that the hard way when she tried to shoo one of them off her car once._

Miguel sent back a few colourful emojis. _Well thanks, I guess._

They chat back and forth, and Miguel sends a selfie with a little finch that had landed behind him on the bench.

 _Robby:_ _I don't know who's cuter, you or the finch._

_Such a sweet talker :p_

_Robby: I hope you know I'm saving that photo. Your smile is so genuine. I've never really considered writing a poem about someone before, but you're making a compelling case. You're just very attractive :P  
_

Miguel's grin would have been embarrassing if Robby were there to see it, considering the dark and persistent blush that spread all over his skin.

_Putting those English lectures to use, are we?_

_Robby: Yeah well, if I'm dedicating 4 years of my life to learn the finer things of the English language, I should at least be able to express myself half decently. Did it at least make you smile?_

_Maybe._

_Robby: :)_

Miguel looked up from his phone, eyes darting around the park, the pleasant feeling in his chest spreading down to his stomach. He was grinning like an idiot. He could feel the ache in his cheeks, painfully aware of his own developing feelings.

He wondered if it were obvious.

(31)

“Are you seeing someone?”

He looked up from his phone, the cutesy smile off his face immediately. “What?”

Carmen had come in a little while ago, now dressed in a pair of pyjamas and standing by the hall, observant.

“Your eyes are on your phone more than that book.”

“Oh,” he grinned, a little abashed. “Just a friend… we’re trying to make plans for this weekend.”

“Oh.”

She said it as if it were obvious that she thought differently, and when she came around behind him to walk into the kitchen, Miguel covered Robby’s text, too suspiciously flirtatious for his mother's curious eyes.

His expression turned amused. “ _What?”_

He barely caught her smile before she turned back around, posting the kettle's steaming contents onto a mug.

“Nothing…”

She knew; she wasn't dumb. She'd seen that smile before. “You should invite your little friend over for dinner, are they from school?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” In the back of his mind, he knew that her sneaking suspicion of puppy love would disappear from her mind as soon as he let the words leave his mouth. “I'll ask him.”

There was a very subtle change in her face, but her smile didn't leave, and neither did his hands from trying to protectively but discreetly shield his phone’s screen from her wandering eyes.

“Let me know,” She looked down at her tea in her hands, then at him. “It'll be nice having a guest for dinner again.”

\--

Miguel's attention is drawn to the present, daydream gone. The birds nip around at the ground, a chunk of cookie still in his hand. Over to his left, a rather brave finch had wandered up to him, peeking intently at him, and the cookie. He broke off a piece and extended his arm, not expecting it to get much closer, but he figured he could try anyway.

To his visible shock, the bird hopped closer and a tiny beak snatched away the piece of cookie from between his fingers, and flew some feet away, into the tree above his head.

He spied a nest.

He wondered about his mother, if maybe she'd known the whole time and was wondering why he'd never told her, or at least trusted her enough to know she wouldn't care.

Maybe he had hurt them both.


	21. Day (245)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apathy.

At home, his _real_ home and not his little shared apartment, is a relief. It reminds him much less of Robby than the campus does, where his whole environment is a stark reminder of all the little moments together, walking around, thinking; what if he were right there, walking to class? What if he were right over there in that cafe, getting his coffee? What if Robby saw him while he was out, looking like a pathetic hot mess and thought 'well thank god I've gotten rid of _that_ _.'_? 

He doesn't have to worry about that in his small, poverty-stricken corner of the city, now that school is a safe distance away and Robby has no business coming here now that his own father had moved out from next door. 

Miguel doesn't pay any mind that he's slumping around town in a worn t-shirt and _depression sweats_. The fleeting glances from strangers are nothing to think twice at. He doesn't care. He cannot bring himself to care anymore. Exams had drained him physically and mentally and there was still a hole, where evidently no closure would go to stuff it up, still remained in his chest, all glaring and obvious that he was missing someone. 

It was exhausting. 

Gomez is still here, and talks to Miguel about his daughter, who is three now, and asks him about school. Miguel forgets the other details about her almost as soon as he hears them. He drags his hand up from his side and drops two candy bars, a carton of Five Alive, and a small bottle of whiskey (the one he remembers sensei drinking) and whips out his now legal ID from the pocket of his joggers. 

Gomez eyes him, and carefully bags his things one at a time. 

Miguel slides a few bills across the counter and glances over his own shoulder, watching for a moment as the sugary, coloured ice swishes around in the circular windows. 

"And a slushie, please." 

The absolute abandonment of any feelings is as close to catharsis as he should come to expect, but it felt pretty good to stop moping, even if it meant not being able to feel anything at all. It was kind of like his feelings had up and gone, simply stopped existing one morning while the remnants of his post-heartbreak sadness staggered around like hapless baby deer. 

Gomez punches in a number, and Miguel makes his way to the back, fills a cup with a cherry and lime concoction, grabs his back from the counter, and heads out the door into the beaming sunshine and springtime air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO MORE!
> 
> Thank you very much to all who have read, reviewed, and supported the story.


End file.
